


Stakeout

by TheWild



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Age Difference, Everyone is hot, Explicit Language, F/M, Finally, Help, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smut, i have a potty mouth, it is already tagged for violence i am an idiot, there's gonna be gun play later on but i'll tag it for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWild/pseuds/TheWild
Summary: It was supposed to be an easy surveillance mission. Instead, you get a wounded leg and more questions than answers.





	1. easy job

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! It's been so long since I've written something. I'm trying to get back into the groove for Of Headaches and Hairy Men and have found myself wanting to write an Overwatch story.
> 
> Quick note: you have a prostethic leg in this one! I'll elaborate in further chapters.

The ticking of the clock behind you was starting to get really annoying. You couldn't have wished for a more comfortable stakeout location: cosy hotel. Very soft bed. Unfortunately the owners really liked the kitsch aesthetics.

"Importing data: 34%."

You pour yourself a hot cup of coffee and lean back in the chair. Ah, the delight of calm, quiet undercover missions. You hadn't forgotten your last mission with Jesse, which had ended in a loud gunfight and more physical activity than you liked.

You liked working at a desk. After 10 years of working in the field, you thought you deserved this much. It wasn't an actual desk, though; it was a bedside table with a very peculiar carved base. But it was good enough to rest your laptop and other materials on.

Across the street one of the bosses of a drug cartel that had been running rampant was having a grant old time. You had hidden microphones all over the place to figure out their next heist, and the data you were extracting was a handy-dandy list of everyone involved. He wasn't strolling alone: two burly guards were watching everything. Luckily they weren't smart enough yet to check out buildings where they weren't in.

You had a clear view of the target and were just about to take a sip of your coffee- until one of the guards disappeared. Now, this  _was_  your job, and you were certain he didn’t just stroll out from under your gaze. You quickly let your eyes roam around and turned on your visor, which let you see through the parts of the building that weren't gigantic windows.

There was a suspicious lump of man huddled in a corner, out of sight for your target, but in clear view for you.

And then your visor started blaring with activity not too much further, where someone was pummelling the other guard. The only thing you could make out was splotches of blue and white. It was worrying, to say the least. You had taken this mission alone, for the sheer fact that it was supposed to be an easy get-data-get-out situation. You were in contact with Angela, but there hadn't really been a need for that.

"Angela?" you ask, briefly touching your earpiece to establish a connection. 

"Yes?" she replies almost instantly. You count again: one boss, two guards, a few dozen stationed around the building...

"Does this guy have any explicit enemies? Besides, you know, the police," you mutter the last part, but you're sure she understands. You hear her typing something.

"There's a group of vigilantes, but they are currently stopping a heist, so..."

She trails off and you cough uncomfortably.

"Why?" she asks, probably hearing that and you sigh.

"I'll explain when I get back. I'm at 77%, shouldn't be too long now. See you then!"

You let her say her goodbyes before you turn off the communication device. You take another look at the screen. It's progressing, but you have a feeling it's a bit too slow for the pickle you might find yourself in. You look back at the building to find the random son of a bitch looking up at your building.

Probably looking around to see who else he might bludgeon into the ground. You took a sip of your coffee.

Wait, no. He wasn’t just scanning the environment. He was looking right at you. It was an educated guess that made you choke on your coffee, as well as spill the remainder of the cup on your prosthetic. Torbjörn was going to have your head for that, but you didn’t have time. You heard the door to your room slam open and before you could react, there was the sound of a gunshot and at first, you didn’t notice.

It was when you moved to take aim that you felt the burning pain in your leg. Ignoring it- a smarter choice considering he didn’t hit you fatally- you shot your complete round in panic and only slumped back on your chair when he was on the ground, motionless. You took a deep breath and looked down.

A bullet had gone straight through your calf, and blood was pouring out in an alarming rate. More so than the blood loss, you could feel the burning sensation seeping through your veins and you groaned in pain, feeling around on your desk for your ammo. How many people knew you were here? And how many of them had a gun?

Not to mention the weirdo in the other building. You quickly grabbed your earpiece after refilling your handgun.

“Angela. I’ve been compromised. Leaving for ship-“ a deep breath, “soon.”

“Copied. Take care.”

You safely moved the visor and earpiece to your pocket before grumbling under your breath: “Easy mission, they say. Just get that data, they say. Fucking shot in my good leg is what I get.”

You could hear noises from the stairs that led to this part of the hotel, but you could also feel a fever rising. You had to get out. In a frantic moment, you pulled all the wires out, pocketed the drive and fumbled to find your bag- where had you left it? Moving was already hard enough. You slowly rose to your feet, mainly leaning on the chair, when you heard the footsteps stopping close behind.

“Who are you?”

You were grateful that this particular enemy wanted to engage in conversation. You only turned when you had a good grip on your gun.

This one was flashy. Blue and white jacket, humongous gun and a mask covering most of his face- it was the son of a bitch that ruined this in the first place!

“I could ask the same of you,” you manage to get out, but you feel your leg shaking and you have to go sit back on the table for full support. Your gun is still aimed, though. You couldn't afford to get shot again. He tilts his head downwards, probably to see what has you weak in the knees.

“You with them?” you mutter, nodding to the man you had just shot down. He was identifiable by the gigantic spider tattoo on his neck. Though you couldn't see if this guy had any, that didn’t make him any less of a suspect right now.

“No. You?”

He has a really deep voice. Very gruff as well. You manage a snort.

“Hell no.”

Satisfied, you lower your gun and grunt as you drag yourself over to the bed, carrying your laptop. You saw the brown leather of your bag sticking out from under it.

“There are more of them coming,” the man says, “you got an escape route?”

You figure the enemy of your enemy is your friend, and you nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Down the fire escape, about 2 kilometres down north,” you continue grunting, and you can feel the fever’s getting to be a bit much. And the blood loss. The bottom of your leg is completely covered in red. For now, you aren't feeling faint yet, but you know that if you have to run back to the ship you'll start seeing black splotches soon.

Right before you can brace yourself to get back up; you can see his crotch in front of your face as he slings his gun back and offers an arm for support.

“You ain’t going to get there with that leg.”

It’s a surprisingly friendly tone and you nod.

“Very accurate,” you mutter, leaning on his shoulder as he drags the both of you forward. You try to assist as much as you can- you also have your gun ready for more unwanted assailants, but it seems they ran out. For now.

It’s when you are wobbling through a back alley that 5 assailants appear in your vision, and your companion is quick to shove you both behind a container when they start firing. Your grip on the gun tightens as your vision starts getting blurry by the sudden movement.

“I’ll deal with them,” he huffs, getting ready to run straight into the gunfire. Your reflexes get the best of you and you hold him back.

“Wait,” you breathe in deeply and motion to the alley that is next to you, “this leads to over there. Might be easier to distract them so you have the upper hand.”

He seems to think about that suggestion and you take out a smoke bomb you had stashed away in your bag.

“Can you go over there?”

You have to shake your head. At this point, standing up was demanding all of your energy.

“I’ll throw the smoke bomb, keep them distracted. I’m counting on you,” you give him thumbs up with that statement, and he grunts, but carefully moves past you and disappears in the alley. You take it as your cue to drag yourself up and you wave at the group of gunslingers.

“Hey boys! Want a piece of this?”

Your yelling is effective: they quickly start advancing towards you, guns blaring. Now you just had to find a good moment to throw the bomb without getting shot in the face. You find an opening when you hear one of them cry out and the rest delays their attack to investigate. As you throw it, you see the fear in their eyes at not knowing who’s attacking them. Maybe they thought you were alone? Even though they clearly saw you both stumble through the alley.

As you slump back down onto the ground, you decide to rip off the leg of your pants that covers the wound, wrap it around as best as you can and apply pressure to it. While you are trying to give yourself some do-it-yourself first aid, you hear more pained noises and a lot of sounds reminiscent of head hitting concrete.

Before long, the smoke disperses and the noises die down, except for the occasional wail and grunt. He really did a number on them. You don’t have to look to realize that. Soon enough, he is next to you again and you get ready to stand up when you see the shadow of someone leaning over him, ready to smack him with a gun. You don’t really know why they’d smack him instead of shoot him- maybe they ran out of bullets- but you’re quick to aim and fire right beside his head.

He doesn’t even flinch. Well, not that you’d see it if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll try to keep this updated consistently. If you have any constructive criticism, feel free to leave it! English isn't my first language. I ran it through a spellchecker but alas, I don't trust Word.
> 
> I'll try to upload weekly, and maybe finish it before my internship starts. I am a procrastinator at heart but I really want to finish this.


	2. hero

The enemy’s body falls down on the ground and you momentarily forget the burning pain in your calf, trying to stand up. You’re quickly reminded when you instantly fall back and hit your back against the container. The burn spreads once again and you feel your leg shaking, like it can’t take any more for a while.

You’re glad your companion is quiet about that little display of grace, and instead focuses on your wound.

“We’ll have to take care of that before you bleed to death,” he notes. You feel like rolling your eyes and giving a sarcastic remark, but who knows what he might do. And he did have a point.

“Yeah,” you wince as you have to move your leg back a bit, “can you lend me a hand?”

You manage to get back up with his help and you are surprised when no more enemies appear. You were almost sure there were more than 5 stationed out here, and it was weird they didn’t react to the gunfight. Or the fight, period. You figured they’d want the head of the guy that got so close to beating the shit out of their leader.

You are _not_ surprised by the black splotches in your vision, and you are sure Angela is going to have a field day scolding you.

When you arrive at the ship, you are quick to launch Athena. At first, she is routed to fly over to the makeshift headquarters, but you imagine that’s a bad idea if you just have someone casually coming along. You hope he doesn’t notice you changing the coordinates. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.

And then, finally, you rest back on one of the benches as he does the same. You glance at the wound. The fabric from your pants was doing hardly anything to stop the bleeding.

“Hey.”

He’s finally put down his gun but it doesn’t look like he’ll be taking off the mask. He turns to you, though, which is something.

“Throw me that med kit.”

He does so without a word, and you take to covering your leg in as much tight bandaging as you can. When you are done with the haphazard bandaging, you lie yourself down and rest your leg above your head, on one of the shelves.

You ignore the fact that you kick off some stray ammo.

Ahh, your eyes are feeling heavy. Closing them feels like a cold beer on a hot summer day. You take a deep breath and prepare for some well deserved rest when you are unceremoniously slapped in the face by the man you just randomly let on the ship.

“Hey!” your voice squeaks from the mini-heart attack you just had. He seems unperturbed.

“Falling asleep might be deadly,” he notes calmly.

“A soft shake of the shoulder would’ve done the trick!”

He’s already moving back to his spot across from you, even though you are clearly livid. You decide to distract yourself and contact Angela. It couldn’t be more than an hour you’d be on your way, and you were parking somewhere differently.

 “Ang-“ you hesitate, “Mercy, I got a...visitor. Meet me at the weird-ass cottage in the woods, gonna park the ship there.”

There’s a bit of silence before you hear her connect.

“Sure thing, Hase. Is everything alright?”

You pause. Should you tell her about your leg? Maybe it’s better to keep her worry for when she sees it. You also didn’t feel like having two scolding sessions: one on the phone and the other to your face.

“Yeah. See ya there,” you smiled at thin air as she gave you a greeting back.

You would’ve liked the rest of your ride to be quiet, but to make sure you were wide awake your acquaintance would every once in a while just stomp his leg on the ground. It wasn’t only keeping you awake. You could feel your eye twitch out of annoyance, and you couldn’t help but notice how loud he could do that. At this point he was going to leave a dent.

“So, you got a name?” you ask, wanting him to stop with his godforsaken method of keeping people alert.

“Not one you need to know.”

“Well then,” you sigh, “so much for conversation to keep me awake.”

He only leaves a small pause.

“You screwed up my work.”

The _nerve_! _The absolute nerve of this guy!_ You were close to seething with rage. You were shot in the leg because of him! You were lucky you at least got part of the data on the drive as well, before he decided to give away your location!

“Yeah, sucks when you get shot in the leg because someone decides to outright pummel the enemy.”

You don’t really care if he’s looking at you or not, but you give him the dirtiest look you can muster.

“Don’t act like _you’re_ the hero here,” he growls. You are taken aback only slightly by how intimidating it sounds. Very quickly though, you regain your composure. In that moment, you wished they hadn’t replaced your leg, but given your eyes laser implants.

“You’re a real superman, aren’t you, compared to me?”

If sarcasm could turn into venom you would be burning a hole through the ground.

You’re glad when he lets you have the last word. You are also glad that, even though you two clearly disagreed on who screwed who over, he at least has the human decency to still help you out of the ship when you finally land.

When you hobble out of the ship, you notice two things: first off, Mercy does not react very weirdly to the fact that someone unknown is helping you get out of the ship. Secondly, you can almost feel her rage as she notices your bandaged leg. She’s stomping over, arms tense, and eyes almost aflame. You almost feel the need to hide behind the admittedly broad shoulders of the masked son of a bitch.

“You said everything was alright!”

“Technically speaking, I am feeling kind of alright,” you try to joke, “...now.”

She chooses to ignore that statement and turns to the man you’re practically dangling off of.

“Soldier, thank you for accompanying her. We didn’t know you were around.”

You glance back and forth between the two and Angela’s soft eyes for the man don’t escape you. Did she know him? She must. The way back to the base is filled with them making small talk as you listen. They talk about many things, but not really anything that can help you find out who this guy is.

* * *

As you lie down on the hospital bed, Angela immediately takes to tending your leg, and you hear her sigh under her breath.

“I thought you were going to take care of your other leg, Hase,” she scolds, like a mother would when she caught her kid with one hand in the cookie jar. She was the one who, together with Törbjorn, got your replacement leg in place. And you didn’t doubt that Fareeha had mentioned the story of how you lost it- Angela was always very worried about your limbs.

You give her a weak smile before you pull out the drive.

“Got the thing, though,” you can’t for the life of you form a decent sentence and she takes it hastily, throwing it onto a nearby table as she continues.

 Your new acquaintance settles quietly in the corner.

“Did you get hit anywhere else?” she asks next, looking over quickly. You shake your head and give her thumbs up.

“Oh mein Gott, this isn’t the time for thumbs up!”

She gives your shoulder a soft slap as she says it, but you can see her smiling. It’s fixed relatively quickly- sometimes it scares you how much that healing beam of hers can do. But she orders you to stay in bed for a few more days. When your new acquaintance exits the doctor’s office, it’s the last you see of him.

* * *

“صديقة!”

Pharah almost breaks the table by slapping her hand down on it. She got your attention, for sure.

“What did we tell you about legs?!”

She is all up in your face now, as you are casually continuing playing cards with Angela.

“You can use them to walk?” you joke. You can see the rage, and you hold up your hands in defence.

“Just kidding, just kidding, Fareeha. I’m sorry. It’s just a gunshot wound.”

“I don’t see you in 6 months and you are back in a hospital bed,” she mutters, grabbing a chair and sitting herself down.

“Well, we both know you love visiting the infirmary,” you wink, giving Angela a knowing look, and Fareeha sports a small blush on her cheeks. Like you hadn’t noticed it yet.

You also hoped this distraction might help you win this game of cards, because your hand was terrible and the doctor was surprisingly good at things like this. And you, despite all the times you practiced against McCree, were not.

“That is not what matters now. How did that happen?” Fareeha asks after she regains her composure. You shrug.

“A random guy gave away my location after pummelling some enemies.”

Angela blinks a few times and you try to switch out some cards. She slaps your hand.

“Don’t do that! But, (name), do you not know who brought you back here?”

You want to correct her and make it clear that _you_ brought _him_ back here, really, since you had the ship waiting for an escape. But you just shake your head as she wins this round.

“Ever heard of Soldier: 76?” Angela now inquires, shuffling the deck once again.

(You notice her winking at Pharah and you wished they’d keep their flirting for when you weren’t sitting in-between them.)

“The vigilante hero? _That’s_ him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks for the kudos <3
> 
> Hase = bunny in German.  
> Mein Gott = 'My God!' in German.  
> صديقة = Girlfriend/Pal in Arabic (if this is incorrect, let me know!)


	3. repercussions

“You are distracted,” Zarya notes, hitting you on the head slightly. She is younger than you, but because of her build she towers over you, even when you are both sitting down.

“Hmm,” you note, not having listened to what she said, still carefully counting the cups stacked on the table.

“You always stare at coffee machine when you are thinking too much. Shall we have a sparring match to get your mind off of it, zaichik?”

That brings your attention back to her as you laugh.

“You’d wipe the floor with me,” you muse. You are trained, but you’re speciality is hiding and running. Not necessarily in a cowardly way, it’s just that you weren’t as frontline-heavy as the tall Russian.

“What is on your mind?” she asks again, continuing her sit-ups. You just settle for sitting up next to her.

“Did you know Soldier: 76?”

She pauses for a second, but continues quickly. You are always surprised by the work ethic this woman has.

“I have seen him around base. Met him on some missions as well. Why?”

Her reply only makes you more confused: surely, if she had seen him before, you should have as well? You only moved out to the base a year ago, but that was plenty of time to meet everyone that was stationed here.

“I met him on a mission. As in, never met him before that. Isn’t he a vigilante, though? Not involved with organized missions?”

Zarya hums as she thinks that one over, never breaking her workout rhythm.

“I do not care for the details of why he is here.”

Well.

At least it’s an honest answer.

“I’m going to go for a run,” you say, still thinking it over. She gives you a curt nod and then focuses completely on the workout again.

* * *

You don’t know why it bothered you so much. Maybe because you liked to know who you were –potentially- working with or because _knowing_ things was part of your job. It was like Jesse without his hat. It bothered you.

It bothered you enough that you were stretching and didn’t notice the presence behind you.

“What a lovely sight,” you heard a certain cowboy muse behind you. He wasn’t too close, but you still jumped at the sound.

Speaking of the devil...

“Good morning to you, too,” you mutter, standing up straight almost immediately.

“Want to join me on my run?” you ask as he just takes to tipping his hat and standing a bit closer, so you don’t have to yell across the training grounds. His expression says it all.

“I’ll gracefully decline, darlin’. We’ll be playin’ some poker this evenin’, care to join us?”

You remember the last time you played poker with McCree.

“You robbed me blind last time, you dirty cheat,” you joke, jabbing at his breastplate. He smirks.

He didn’t actually cheat too much, at least not that you knew of, but you knew you had consumed plenty of alcohol and had clouded judgement.

“Aww, harsh,” he dramatically lays a hand on his heart, “I distinctly remember you bein’ incapacitated halfway through but insistin’ on playing.”

You shrugged.

“Potato, potato.”

“Heard you been asking around about a certain grumpy old soldier.”

You sighed as you did your hair up in a clean ponytail.

“I dislike not knowing things.”

“Darlin’, sometimes mystery is a lot better. Makes people seem interestin’ when they might not be.”

“Are you referring to yourself?” you wiggled an eyebrow as you made that statement, and it was his turn to push you slightly.

“Don’t be gettin’ on my bad side, now,” he scowled. You let out a chuckle as you pushed his hat over his eyes, starting your run.

* * *

When it’s 2 A.M. and you still cannot sleep because of your incessant need to _know_ , you decide a little snooping can’t hurt. After all, there was nothing else to count, or classify. Even though Winston was very smart, he failed to realize you easily accessed the classified files he had buried deep in his computer.

You were staring at the screen with an energy bar dangling from your mouth, the clock reading 8 A.M., when you had come to a conclusion that wasn’t really a conclusion.

There were two possibilities: either he was Gabriel Reyes, or Strike Commander Morrison. You quickly cancelled out the first due to the fact that he didn’t have the same complexion or hairstyle as Reyes. Then again, you were sure you had read announcements that both were dead.

You see- right before the end of Overwatch, you were lining up to join their ranks. You had a close friendship with Fareeha and she had suggested it. It was only a few weeks into rigorous tests and scans but then the end of Overwatch came. And you were out of a job prospect.

Yet Angela and Reinhardt seemed so trusting of him. It couldn’t be much else, could it? At this point you had gone through so many classified files that Winston was going to have your head if he found out.

The curt knocking on your door startled you.

“Hase? Did you forget about your check-up?” Angela’s muffled voice seeps through the door and you take another look at the clock.

“Yeah, give me 5,” you shout back, making yourself look relatively presentable.

She is punctual to a fault and after five minutes, when you are still trying to tame your hair and wash away the bags under your eyes, she enters.

And gives your computer screen an inquisitive look. You decide to let it be.

“I’m done,” you smile, guiding her back out. No doubt she had seen what was on that screen, but you know she wouldn’t go babbling about it. At least, you hoped she wouldn’t.

* * *

You’re walking past the shooting range when you see the subject of your sleepless night make small talk with Jesse. He’s still wearing the same outfit he did back when you first ran into him, and he is still wearing that blasted mask.

You are ready to move past when the cowboy shouts your name and waves. You give him a meek wave back.

“Wanna join us for some target practice, darlin’?”

“I’m going to take a nap, didn’t get any sleep,” you yell back. He seems to pout.

“And why is that?”

Angela’s inquisitive voice enters from the other side of the hall. You sigh again.

“Another time, McCree,” you shout at the man, as you lock arms with the doctor and start stepping away from the shooting range. She seems glad that you want to explain.

“Okay, Angela, I’ve just been doing some looking up on the old Overwatch.”

Her face is blank and she can read your eyes like a psychic.

“And maybe also on masked vigilante over there.”

“I thought so. As your medic, I would advise you to get back on a normal schedule. And as your friend: it might be best to drop it.”

You give her a half-hearted grunt in agreement.

* * *

You didn’t expect to be called into Winston’s office so soon. You were fairly sure you had done your searching secretive, and even though Angela might not agree, she’s not the type to tattle. As you sit yourself down, the gorilla scientist is quiet. Papers are strewn in front of him.

After a long pause you give a cough.

Winston slides the newspaper in front of him over to you. You don’t read past the title: ‘Innocent hotel owners slaughtered by drug cartel’ is enough to make you sick to your stomach. You didn’t think that your messy surveillance would have had such repercussions. Civilian casualties always had been a weakness of yours.

“What do we do?”

You have to suppress your urge to ask how you can go and kill them. You know Winston wouldn’t appreciate that, and he would possibly take you off the case.

“You tell me,” the scientist muses, calmly eating his banana. You throw the newspaper back at his head. Childish, perhaps, but you weren’t in need of scolding.

“If you’re going to take a smart tone with me, I’d prefer it if you just tell me what you want to do,” you look him in the eye and you know it must be quite cold.

Winston sighs, and you regret the venom in your voice. But anger is a wild beast, and you don’t feel like apologizing for that.

“Take a look at this,” the gorilla continues, now handing you an envelope.

You wished you didn’t listen. You drop the damned thing down on the table immediately when you catch a glimpse of what’s inside: pictures of their bodies. You violently shove the chair back and stomp out of the meeting room, eyes blazing and thoughts swirling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos!
> 
> Zaichik = bunny in Russian


	4. pictures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is very short and kind of graphic, so take care reading this!

One sit-up.

You remember it all too graphically. The pictures swerve around in your head and the first thing you remember is their eyes- cold and pleading with blood and tears mixing.

Two sit-ups.

The wife had given you an extra key card so you’d not lock yourself out, after you told her about one time that happened. All traces of that warmth were gone with the slits at her throat.

Three sit-ups.

The splotches of blue and black hadn’t escaped you either, for the few seconds that you held it, her body a blur of bruises mixing together.

Four sit-ups.

Her husband lay beside her, seven- or was it eight? - stab marks all over his chest.

Five sit-ups.

It was like they’d be staring at you every time you close your eyes, blaming you. And they had every right.

Your strength has left you completely as you lay there, eyes staring up at the ceiling as you felt your breath hitch. Tears were coming, surely. You’d been through this before. It’s what life in the military was.

You thought you were over it. You thought, joining the vigilante group, that you wouldn’t have to bury anymore victims. That you could protect them.

You pick up your arm and use your elbow as a cosy place to bury your head when the tears start running. You were glad you seemed to be the only one who visited the gym at night. A few sobs escape but you swallow them back.

You don’t know how long you are there, vulnerable and broken down, but you suppose it’s not productive to be here. If someone did happen to come in, they would ask questions. Questions you didn’t want to answer.

You drag yourself up and saunter over to the coffee machine- and jump slightly when you hear the mechanical doors open.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You resist the urge to crush the plastic mug. Man, out of all people to be here, it had to be the grumpy soldier. You wipe your cheeks briefly, before putting on a smile.

“Can’t skip leg day,” you muse, albeit quietly, as you give him a quick look. The worst thing is that you don’t know how he is feeling- everything is hidden behind that mask. While you are here, completely exposing your feelings.

It’s not _fair_.

He saunters over to where you are, keeping a respectable distance but leaning against the table where all the cups were stacked. His posture is relaxed: you take it he’s not here to lecture you.

“He showed you the pictures.”

He didn’t have to ask, you were fairly sure he knew already. But you nod anyway, looking away. The mere sentence brings the images back, for just a second. But a second is enough.

“Soldier...” he starts, but he fails to find the rest of his sentence. You give him a sad smirk.

“I’m not a soldier anymore.”

Your left hand is gripping at the machine, knuckles turning white. You are going over all the possibilities of how he could react- condescending, angry, sympathetic... But you didn’t expect him to carefully put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly. He’s not turned to you with his face, and he forgoes making any statements, but the gesture sends you over the edge. The tears come back at full force now.

You had expected you’d have run out by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it's so short but life is hectic between prepping for Artist Alley, prepping for bachelor paper, prepping for internship and making a cosplay. So much is happening. But I'm crunching through the next one which will be a lot longer! Thanks for the support once again.


	5. talk

One sleepless night later, you see Winston sitting in front of his strange dietary decisions at the cafeteria, and you decide to join him. You were more than rude before, after all.

“I’m sorry about my behaviour, Winston,” you start, looking up to find what kind of reaction you could expect. He gives you a smile as he adjusts his glasses.

“It’s alright. I had gone too far.”

You give him a small smile in return.

“No, you made a point. And you were right.”

It was awkward while he dipped his banana in the peanut butter and you had trouble swallowing the slice of bread with jam you had in your mouth. That was partly because any feeling of hunger had left you since yesterday, but also because it was kind of disgusting what Winston was eating.

“I, uh...”

He seemed to have trouble thinking of what he had to tell you.

“I need to ask you something.”

“Fire away,” you mutter, putting your lunch aside for now.

“We want you to go on the investigation together with Soldier: 76.”

You thought drinking your cup of water was a good idea, but as you almost choked on it, you regretted that decision.

“Why?”

“He knows the field. He knows the enemy. Paired with you there is a high chance of success. Zarya volunteered to man the dropship, as well.”

You had no qualms about doing this mission with Zarya: she was like a rock. That woman had proven more than once to you she would gladly smash through hordes of enemies if it meant a successful mission.

“Last time it got two people killed.”

The words barely make it out of your mouth without the taste of regret and sorrow seeping through. It’s still hard. But you have to be professional.

“There was a communication error. Unfortunately, that led to regrettable circumstances. But if you are both aware of the other’s presence, I’m convinced it will turn out better.”

You rub your eyes, willing away the sadness for a few more minutes, giving a deep sigh.

“Sure. If you say so.”

You would trust Winston with your life. You expected he knew what he was talking about. And he _was_ your boss, technically.

* * *

 “I really don’t see point of training when you are always distracted, zaichik.”

Zarya practically hovers over you while you try to complete your set of sit-ups, and her comment makes you scowl.

“Don’t worry about it, Zarya,” you tell her, not looking her in the eye.

But Zarya’s not an idiot. Clearly there was something on your mind, the tall woman knew that, and she also knew that you would continue to be stingy about it until it was resolved. The countless mornings she had spent with you in the gym had led her to understand how your mind worked- at least a little. She squats down to hold your feet in an iron grip.

“Talk to me.”

You look her in the eye now, which is a good thing, but when you put your hands on her broad shoulders, she knows you aren’t going to loosen up. You give her a little squeeze.

“No.”

“It is the soldier, no? You are still thinking about that?”

Zarya suppresses the urge to laugh at your spluttering and slightly dusted cheeks.

“Get off it, Zarya. It’s not important.”

“It is important when you do not complete set. Focus comes from eliminating distractions.”

You give a sigh, letting her go and lying down on the training mat. Her grip on your feet tightens, albeit not uncomfortably, as if she’s expecting you to run off.

“It is not my business if you like tiny man. But it is interrupting my workout. So it turns into my business.”

You feel like telling her that for you, he is not tiny at all, but then again, she is huge.

* * *

“I’m here for the check-up, Angela,” you say as you enter the doorway, knocking on the side.

You respectfully ignore Fareeha scurrying further away from the doctor once she knows you’re there, and she rushes to the doorway herself.

“Ah, thank you for the check-up, dr. Ziegler!” she salutes, bolting down the hallway.

“Was I...interrupting?” you ask Mercy, eyebrow raised. She’s quick to deny it while inviting you in.

“How is your leg?” she asks calmly, taking the time to check your skin. Thanks to her healing magic- you didn’t particularly understand it- there was hardly a scar.

“Good,” you shrug. She hums in approval and turns to her desk, away from you.

“Zarya told me you are distracted by Soldier: 76.”

You sputter uncomfortably and feel like running away just like Pharah did: except you are pretty sure Angela would follow you until you stopped. So instead you give another exaggerated sigh.

“I didn’t know Zarya visited doctors.”

“She asked me for a concentration pill for you.”

You almost- _almost_ \- slam your hand on the table close to you out of embarrassment.

“Look,” Angela continues, turning back, “it is your business what you want to know, meine Freundin. But it is impacting your work.”

“Angela, why are you so keen on having me let this go? If I recall correctly, you were the first one to ask me all the juicy details about my life when Fareeha introduced me.”

You can see her pause her actions as she remembers that. It had been flattering, to have such a prodigy doctor want to know about your work back then. But it did kind of halt her argument at this point in time.

“Yes. I guess so.”

You are both paused in an somewhat awkward silence.

“I know he is a good man. He has his quirks, but you really should trust him.”

* * *

You are reading your horoscope for that week when you hear the sliding doors open. Looking up seems pointless: whoever is here, probably wants some alone time as well. It is pretty late at night after all. It’s when you hear the chair opposite to you move that you look up to find 76 putting some coffee on the table and settling down.

Well, settling down. He seemed pretty tense.

“Angela’s been telling me you’ve done some snooping.”

You curse a bit at the woman. You specifically told her you were just making up theories.

“Snooping’s my job, 76,” you mutter, looking back at your horoscope.

_‘Secrets might lead to unwanted tension.’_

How fitting.

“So, what have you found?” he asks. His voice is calm but you can hear the soft rumble of annoyance coming through. When you look up to stare at his visor- damn that red thing- you wonder if maybe running away from this conversation is better.

Eh, what do you have to lose?

“I first thought you might be some kind of spy, considering your precision on when and where I was doing a stakeout,” you close the magazine and lean back, “but that theory has been thrown out of the window considering all the older folks here seem to be really fond of you. Either you are an old friend turned hero or you are from a past where Overwatch was still a government program.

“If the second thought is the case, you’re Strike Commander Morrison. But considering he was proclaimed dead I highly doubt it.”

He’s extremely quiet and it’s unnerving that you can’t read his reaction. And you are ready to get up and give up this entire witch-hunt, until he reaches for the mask.

And drags his hand right back down, leaving you quite surprised at the glimpse of what he might’ve shown.

“I’d like you to stop investigating me like I’m the enemy.”

You harrumph quite loudly, stirring your coffee and leaning back again after getting quite heated in your deduction. As if you were just going to _quit_.

It’s quiet after that, save for you taking the occasional sip and getting back to reading your weekly gossip. He shifts in his seat so his crossed arms are leaning on the table. He still seems to be leaning over you, with his shadow travelling across the table. It makes you look up once again.

“If we are going on this mission together, I’ll have to know there aren’t any unwanted emotions deterring your judgement.”

You scoff at that. He’s clearly referring to when he caught you emotional about the hotel owners, and though he has a good point, and you _know_ it; that didn’t mean he could lecture you.

“You do realize that I’ve gone through all the files? You aren’t exactly one to deliver justice cleanly.”

You might be pushing your luck with that one: he’s older, more experienced, and he could easily crush your spine. But on the other hand, you had a point. You had read the report of how he had quite noisily bashed the heads of the Los Muertos gang. At least you had the poise of taking out people from far away and without a big show. When he’s quiet, you look up to make out anything from his face- oh wait. You can’t. You join the stare down and lean closer as well.

“We were going to have to take them out eventually,” you start, “I might be happy they’ll be going to hell, but that doesn’t mean I’ll deliver some kind of torture before they meet their death.”

He’s still quiet.

“Look, no hard feelings, dude,” you continue, “but I like seeing people’s faces if I have to rely on them. I know this is an underground business as of right now, but wearing it indoors is too much dedication to a lost cause.”

Nothing. No scoff, no laughter, he’s making no noise at all. You decide to push further.

“Besides, Hana thinks it’s creepy.”

You can see one of his fingers twitch, and it makes you smirk. So the masked vigilante does care a little.

“I don’t care what that young sprout thinks.”

You give a soft chuckle and his posture relaxes. It’s satisfying. Perhaps he didn’t take your investigation too personally.

“All you need to know is that I’ll have your back, agent. I expect you to have mine without digging too deep.”

You just hum. Surely, you knew that he was reliable. You trusted Angela’s judgement and the fact that everyone seemed relaxed around him. And he was good at kicking people’s ass. Perhaps letting your guard down just a little might actually help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to cap this story at 10 chapters since I have the progression mapped out already, until I realized I am horrible at structure. But it's probably going to be around that number. Thanks for the support again! Feedback is always very welcome.


	6. coffee

You only had three days to prepare all the intel and brief both Soldier: 76 and Zarya on what you knew about this shady business. Zarya, for one, did not care. All she asked was descriptions of enemies, the weapons they had, and how to flank them. It was clear from the get-go that she wanted them dead, and fast.

When you made it clear to her that you still had to extract some data, you swore you could see her pout.

Soldier: 76 was different though. He had his own share of intel. He had been doing his own independent research, but because you had access to more technology it seemed that yours was significantly...more detailed.

You drop the file in front of the vigilante with a huff. 150 pages detailing all the data you managed to get, incomplete or not, with names, weapons, lists, victims, you name it. That morning, when you were finishing it up, you reckoned it would be a bit too excessive, but on the other hand, you wanted to prove to this guy that you knew your business.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to use a holopad?”

You almost spit out your coffee again.

See: you had been working on this all night. Sleep was hard to come by when all you saw when you close your eyes was the corpses, and being productive was more useful to the mission. When you rushed to get it printed this morning, you felt a feeling akin to needing to deliver a paper in college, and in your rush, you figured paper was easier.

“I...uh...well, I like paper better,” you mutter after a slight pause and regaining your composure. And you could swear- you swore! - you heard a snort come out from under that mask. It was quiet, almost inaudible, but you heard it.

He slid a holopad to your side of the table and gave a nod towards it.

“Let’s review each other’s work and meet back up to discuss it tomorrow. You need the sleep, agent.”

Somehow, his tone has become friendlier after your meet-up in the cafeteria, and you find it harder and harder to be wary. It didn’t help that his voice was so soothing.

_Wait_.

You rub your eyes until colours are flying around in your head when you suddenly hear him coughing.

“Agent?”

He’s tapping his finger on the table in front of you.

“Yeah, yes, sure. Sleep. Sleep is for the weak,” you retort, “Got it.”

“That’s not what I-“

You’re already leaving the room, and Soldier notices you’ve forgotten the holopad he asked you to read. Giving a sigh, he picks it up and decides he’ll leave it for in a few hours.

* * *

 

You sit down for only a few minutes on the bench that watches over the training area, watching McCree and Hanzo firing away at the dummies, when your eyes droop and the world turns black.

With a snore, you come back to the waking world, only to find both men are gone and the sun is going down. It is pretty, but it also worries you. When you want to stand up, however, you notice the holopad on your lap.

Wait.

That wasn’t there when you sat down. Had you brought it unconsciously? Weird.

* * *

 

You are honestly impressed. Your research was very to the point, always, trying to list as much as possible with as much details possible. But it was relatively impersonal. You figured people could find out weaknesses of organizations on their own if they had the entire background.

Soldier: 76 clearly had another way around it.

His research seemed so personal; everything listed having scribbled notes on the side. Some said things like what their weak points were (‘weak shoulder’, ‘runs slow’) while others were just crosses. Like you expected, you go over it a full 3 times, adding your own notes and practically memorizing the entire thing during the night. Thanks to your impromptu nap, you didn’t have it in you to sleep when you actually were supposed to.

Zarya laughs at your tired eyes, that morning.

“Zaichik, you need to take care of self!” she snorts.

“Glad I can be funny to you,” you mutter, mood quite foul. You had slept a good 6 hours over the span of 2 days, and it was taking its toll.

“I will give you hours of departure soon. Take care of yourself, yes?”

Her tone had turned softer as she smacked your back in an encouraging gesture, but all you felt was your shoulder almost dislocating.

“Yes, thanks. You too.”

* * *

 

When you enter the meeting room, Soldier: 76 is still engrossed into your paperwork. You haphazardly throw your bag on the table and slump down into the chair, downing the cup of coffee in one go.

Soldier wonders if he’s ever seen you without coffee in the base.

He also admires your ability to down it like it’s water. That can't be good for your heart.

“Got some rest, agent?”

He sees you register that question for a few seconds with spaced out eyes and that gives him a clear answer.

“Uh, yeah. Sweet dreams, sweet dreams. I went over your research. Got a few things I’d like to discuss, if that’s alright with you.”

He gives a curt nod as you take out the holopad.

“It seems we’ve both reached a similar conclusion on place and time. What I’m wondering about is how they’ve spread out their forces. In my intel, it’s recorded that they had planned another heist a few hours away from when we’d be landing on site, but I found in your notes that it seems to have changed,” you barely finish your sentence before a yawn escapes your lips and you try your hardest to resist the urge to stand up and go grab another cup of coffee.

When he gets up and does exactly that, you are pleasantly surprised. He puts the cup down and takes out his own holopad, going to the section you mentioned while staying at your side.

“I don’t think they’ll be underestimating us again. Doesn’t hurt to count on a few dozen men more,” he retorts, pointing to the squads that were appointed to the heist. You nod.

“Yeah. Reckon they don’t want to be surprised by us double teaming them again. Good point, my dude,” it slips out before you know it.

You loved to use endearing terms around people and with your mind and eyes still hazy you had forgotten that this might not be the best person to do it around. His awkward cough only proves that.

“Anyway,” you quickly say, hoping it will distract him from it, “aside from that, there are some clear...uh...differences, as I’ll put it, between the kind of weapons we have listed. From what I’ve found, most have only guns and grenades equipped, yet-“

“Zarya has noted that your research is more up to date concerning the tech they have. This is only from what I’ve seen in the field.”

Your head knows it’s not a compliment, it’s just an assessment, from _Zarya_ nonetheless, but you can’t help but feel a slight tingle in your stomach at the statement. As if he recognizes your abilities.

“Ah, I see. Well. That’s it then.”

“What’s what?” he grunts.

“That’s all I had to ask.”

There’s an awkward silence as you gulp down the coffee and he remains towering over your left side, still going through the holopad. You are expecting him to ask something, or say something, but you don’t expect what comes next.

“I’m going to have to ask you to take a good night’s rest, agent. Don’t want you compromised in the field because, what was it you said? ‘Sleep is for the weak’.”

His tone is playful and you respond with a curt chuckle.

“Don’t give me a lecture, old man,” you quip while poking his side.

When you realize what you have said, two hours later while eating ramen with Genji, you almost choke on a noodle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't drink coffee, but the people I know that do cling to it like a fucking lifeline. (I tried it once and it made me more sleepy. A true problem for a college student.)


	7. ride

You got some sleep. Not much compared to how many hours a normal human being needs to function optimally, but enough for you. You had slept in blocks of a few hours before waking in cold sweat but with the help of some tea you’d manage to rinse and repeat the motions a few times to at least add up to enough.

You hadn’t packed much: it is supposed to be a short mission. Your trusty bag of weapons, all the tech you’d need in case of another intelligence hack, and one change of clothing. You knew dropships and stakeout locations generally had some food stacked, albeit not the best, but it would suffice for now.

* * *

 

In the dropship, you are settled nicely with your bottle of water and magazine when Zarya suddenly breaks the silence that reigns over the three of you. She’s at the front of the ship, keeping a lookout for when you’d arrive at your location, and Soldier was a few seats away from you, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“That bird looks like John.”

You do a double take to get up and launch yourself over to what Zarya was referring to, and indeed. It looked exactly like him.

“Who’s that?” Soldier: 76 called from behind you, and you couldn’t help the grin on your face.

“An ex colleague,” you chuckle, “real dickhead, that one. Had a bird-like face. Very sharp. His face, not his head.”

“I remember when he took cowboy’s hat and cowboy then dislocated his knee,” Zarya’s booming laugh sends you into a fit of chuckles.

Soldier:76 watches intently.

“Remember when he tried to hit on you, though?” you cackle, wheezing. John wasn’t a smart one. He was more than renowned for his skills in the field, yes, and at first, he seemed like a real asset. Until he managed to piss off almost all the other agents in one day.

“Ah yes,” Zarya notes, squeezing her hand together in a motion that resembled grabbing something, “he will not try to hit on girl again.”

While you mutter how she’s hardly a girl, Soldier:76 sits up a bit straighter. It was weird for him to hear you loosen up so much. He knew you were close to Zarya. He’d seen you two train together. But it was almost unreal how you were both stuck in a laughing fit. The sheer difference in size and build made you two an unlikely match.

“What did he try?” the vigilante asks now, dreading the answer.

“Let us just say he will not be grabbing anything again with his puny fingers.”

When she says it, her eyes are dark, but Soldier assumes it is not as grave by the snorts that leave your mouth. The conversation halts, but every once in a while you manage out a wheeze or snort as you try to calm down.

He thinks it’s endearing, against his better judgement.

* * *

 

The hideout is a small cottage a few kilometres away from where you’re supposed to be. It only has the bare necessities- a small kitchen, a shower, a toilet, and a few camping beds you could unfold and set up if the need was there. The cupboards were filled with all kinds of canned goods.

But no coffee.

You give a soft sigh as the other two settled into the cottage. Zarya seemed to be engrossed in a holopad, which is unusual. You were certain she’d already memorized everything necessary for the mission.

“What do you guys want to eat?” you start, taking out a few cans of beans, “Beans, beans or uh...more beans?”

“We should discuss our plan first,” Soldier:76 notes dryly, and you give a slight scowl. Despite your better judgement, the beans looked nice. You may have skipped breakfast a bit too eagerly this morning.

“Plan is easy. Zaichik takes out main man, we flank. Mission solved,” Zarya mutters.

“Sounds good to me,” you retort, stretching.

* * *

 

The specifics are easily discussed considering all of you are on the same wave-length, more or less, about how fast and cleanly you want this done. In a few hours, you’d be in position on the roof of a nearby hotel that did not know you’d be there. After what happened to the owners of the previous location you used, you decided keeping quiet was better.

Zarya would rush straight through the front door. Considering most of the grounds behind the hotel were under construction, bar a giant storage facility where your target would be, she’d have no problem doing so. Soldier:76 would, in turn, enter from the other side to make sure they would run into one of them eventually.

You knew your job was more cover fire and look-out, but that was fine. You had no doubt when it came to Zarya’s skills, and you had first-hand experienced the combat experience the Soldier had.

When you are settled in position thanks to a grappling hook and some acrobatics, you have a few moments to spare before pandora’s box would be opened.

* * *

 

 “Anything over there?” Soldier:76 grumbles into the device. Man, what has his balls in a twist?

“Nothing but an urge for caffeine and a good night’s rest,” you grin back. He can’t see you grin, though, and you can almost feel a vein pop on the other end.

“Take this seriously, would you?”

You harrumph at his indication that you are a rookie at their first job.

“I’ve done this more than once, 76, relax.”

You adjust the lens of your rifle a bit so it focuses less on the rubble and more on the blur of white and blue advancing forward. There’s only a few moments of silence, but you feel the urge to crack another joke. These awkward silences were never something you liked. Zarya had temporarily turned off her communication device when she decided to blast a wall, leaving you on a line with only the man.

“There’s 5 of them here.”

You hum back in reply, jotting it down in your notebook. It leaves you with a few seconds to realize how much you appreciate hearing his gravelly  tones in your ear.

And you immediately try to get rid of that thought. It might not be your first job, but it certainly is the first one where you are getting more and more inappropriate thoughts. Is this how Fareeha feels when Angela leans over to whisper things in her ear? You reckon it is, by the way she’s always blushing when the doctor is nearby.

“Can you take them out, or need some assistance? Target hasn’t arrived yet. Zarya’s still moving through the environment so we have some time.”

He seems to think long and hard about that one.

“Can you do that without moving your gun?”

You have to resist bursting out in laughter- he really liked acting like you didn’t know what you were doing. It was partly insulting but considering the nature of his personality you were sure it was more to make sure you weren’t making mistakes that could cost your life.

You scanned the ground next to you and quickly found what you were looking for: a flare. From your position up at the top, you could easily land it behind the assailants.

“Got it. Send me a signal if you want me to throw it.”

You can see him looking up at your position. You would wave, but then he’d start the whole unprofessional-schtick again. Instead, you give a nod. If that visor is worth anything, he should pick up on it.

He moves quickly through the rubble. You hardly knew anyone that limber at his age, but you hardly knew any super soldiers as it were. When he settles behind a stack of bricks waiting to be used, you suddenly see him lift his fingers and motion at you.

With a throw that you yourself would describe as very graceful, the flare whizzed through the air and landed a good ways behind the enemy, but they were quick to turn.

It gave you a chance to finally see him in action properly. He’s swift, predatory almost, ~~you wonder if he could be that way in other situations~~ , as he quickly mops the ground with them. It’s almost insane how quick he can take out enemies.

“Good job, agent.”

You are glad you are all alone up here, because that comment caught you off guard and you felt the tips of your ears turning red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized next week is pandemonium with internship, artist alley and debriefing bachelor papers so today and tomorrow are writing days! I've never really written action or this kind of story line before so I hope it reaches up to expectations. Thanks for your support!


	8. little bunny

It’s quiet. Too quiet. You don’t hear anything anymore from either companions, and as you look through your lens, you don’t spot anymore enemies. It is rather unnerving, to say the least. You had counted on a few dozen enemies, Soldier:76 on even more.

But there seemed to be no one save for the 5 guys he had knocked into oblivion back at the rubble.

You take another look at your notes. You notice your movement getting more frantic: hands grasping a few times before grabbing onto the notebook properly, eyes focusing and trailing away from the wrong things because you don’t know how to concentrate on the elaborate scheme you had written down.

You count to 10 with deep breaths and convince yourself it won’t be that bad.

“Zarya, how’s it over there?” you mutter as you go through the pages. Everything you had written down and researched had seemed logical. But if that scenario was the case, there would have been more men pretty much everywhere right now.

“No one yet. There?” she quickly responds, and you hear the clicking of her boots on the floor. So she’s already inside. And there’s still no one. You try to focus on the sounds she makes to focus properly.

“Quiet. Have you seen Soldier:76 yet?”

“No, but I have heard door being knocked through.”

“Soldier:76, do you copy?” you then ask. It’s quiet for a few seconds before he connects.

“Made it through. It’s empty here, agent,” he mutters but you can hear the worry in his voice as well. It is far from reassuring.

“This is weird. There’s supposed to be at least 20 people here.”

Your comment gets no response. Over the line, you can hear Zarya suddenly speeding up.

“Zaichik, I have found some injured people. 2 men, 3 women. Who are they?”

You want to tell her off, considering you didn’t know, but it is not the time nor the place.

“People who aren’t supposed to be there, is what. I’m coming down.”

You can’t stand up before grunts reach your ear.

“Agent, stay there. Might be a trap. Zarya, I’m heading over.”

You wait for what feels like hours, but your watch reminds you it’s only a few minutes. It’s eerily quiet up on the rooftop, with only the occasional gust of wind travelling through your hair. When the line connects again, you almost jump up in relief.

“We’re going to be taking them to the ship. Get ready to evacuate the premises.”

You feel like Soldier isn’t telling you everything that’s going on, but for now, you are on a roof. It’s not like you can do anything about that.

* * *

 

When you arrive at the entrance of the storage hall, you are met with the silhouettes of your companions. You make for them in a hasty walk.

“Are they alright?” you ask, your heart beating in your throat. You couldn’t handle more victims under your watch, not right now. Zarya gives a curt smile.

“They’re alright for now, but we’ll need to get them to a hospital soon,” Soldier notes, “how far is the closest one?”

You waste no time getting the information from your smart watch.

“A few towns away. We can’t walk all the way there.”

You sound defeated and you know Zarya picks up on it quickly.

“We take ship. You two stay here, I will get it,” she responds, taking long strides out the door. You hadn’t noticed how you had been holding your breath until Soldier moves to go back to the people they found.

“Let’s go, agent. We’ll have to move them quickly.”

“We have to be careful, though. This might still be a trap,” you note. He’s quiet for a few moments until he turns to you.

“Ain’t no trap we haven’t been able to get out yet, agent.”

It doesn’t exactly soothe your worries, but it’s better than outright agreeing with you.

* * *

 

You were lucky the dropship could accommodate to large groups of people, and after giving basic first aid, Zarya volunteered to fly over to the hospital. You had tried to argue that she might be a bit too intimidating for it, but she quickly shut you up. You reckoned she didn’t want you around unconscious people harmed by the person you were tracking down.

She was right.

The road back to the cottage was filled with silence. You didn’t know what to say, and your normal urge for ridiculous small talk had completely subsided while you just wanted your brain to be quiet.

Your head blamed you. If the first mission hadn’t gone this wrong, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. _They_ wouldn’t be here. In your rush of worries you had already forgotten to ask for more details.

Soldier:76 decides that the specifics can wait a bit longer.

* * *

 

You aren’t aware how long you spend leaning over the cutlery drawer in the kitchen counting the elastic bands that are, for some reason, all over the damn thing, but you do notice when Soldier coughs uncomfortably.

“How long will you be standing over that drawer, agent?”

You bite down on your lip.

“I’m thinking,” you mutter.

“About what?” he inquires, and you find his voice to be remarkably calm and friendly.

“If he wasn’t _there_ , where in the hell could he have been? They were clearly expecting us. But there was nobody to tattle about our knowledge.”

There’s a lot more you are thinking about: if he knew you were coming, why didn’t he send anyone to take you out? Why did he not raise the defences against the guy that single-handedly took out 7 men before? How could he have _known_? Where did the hostages come from and who were they? Most importantly: where was he then? A hideout? Was he going to come after you when you least expected it to have the upper hand?

He stands up and makes his way over to the small counter, opting to lean against it beside you. He’s clearly perturbed about your obsession with the cutlery.

“This can’t be the first time your target isn’t exactly where they need to be?” he continues asking questions that you don’t want to bother answering, but you turn to look at him briefly.

“It’s the first time they’re pretending they _are_.”

He’s quiet. You continue.

“I don’t trust it. Not one bit.”

You rub a hand over your face to try and relax. If only physical gestures could soothe mental problems.

“What is up with those people we found, though?”

At this point, his silence is aggravating you beyond belief, and your tone holds hostility. It felt like both him and Zarya weren’t telling you something.

“We found a-“

Soldier is interrupted by your communication devices turning on.

“People are safe. Some have major internal damage but doctor said they will be fine.”

Zarya sounds relieved, and paired with her statement it soothes you the tiniest bit, but it’s not enough.

“Thanks, Zarya,” you mutter, glancing over at the man beside you at the counter. His shoulders are slightly slouched, and for a man that is always walking upright, that is a worrying sign.

“I will remain here for questioning. One is close to waking up. You two figure this out.”

You start wondering what she means by ‘this’ until your watch vibrates. She’s sent you a file.

You open it almost frantically to find a beaten up note, laying on a surface that reminded you a lot of the ground back at the storage facility. Soldier is leaning closer to be able to read it as well, but your head is spinning.

> _Come out and play, little bunny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so bad at writing action/suspense


	9. prep

“Didn’t peg you for a short-sleeve kind of guy, 76,” you remark as you prepare for watch. You had kindly proposed being the first to keep watch, considering the fact that you were now certainly in danger of ambush.

You had other things planned, as well, but Soldier didn’t know you actually needed sleep (or he did, but politely ignored that fact) and you needed him asleep for that. He wasn’t really ‘getting ready for bed’ in the normal sense. He’d just pulled off his jacket revealing a nice set of biceps with the tight black shirt he was wearing.

He just grunts at your remark and unfolds one of the beds swiftly, placing a pillow and a blanket on it.

“Wake me in 3 hours. I’ll take over,” he mutters as he turns to the window.

You hear the clicking and wheezing of the visor as he takes it off but you’re turned the other way, rummaging through your bag.

“Hmm,” you sing back.

* * *

 When you’re sure he’s sleeping- deep breaths were your only confirmation, but you’d take it- you move over to the doorway, armed with your boots and a set of handguns you’d found in the ship and stashed away on your flight here.

You were glad you sometimes thought ahead.

The note is stuck in your head and if your deduction skills were worth anything, they’d be waiting for you where Zarya had found it. It seemed only logical to head there. The only thing you’d had to be sure of was that you were armed and ready to take them on.

They couldn’t catch you unprepared. Determined, you start working on your plan as you prepare your backpack.

* * *

 You had finished loading the two handguns you were bringing, as well as stacking extra ammo in your backpack. You figured your rifle would be fairly useless in close combat, even if it had been your trusty companion for a long time.

You hoped your close combat skills weren’t too rusty after years of sniping. You’d had the occasional run in but you’d never actually stormed a building on the frontline.

The clicking reminds you to be quiet, considering you didn’t want to wake up Soldier:76. You quietly check if your prosthetic is still armed with the knife. Tapping it lightly, unfortunately, makes more noise than you’d like, and you hear the bed creaking.

Damnit.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

If you weren’t on edge, you would remember he wasn’t wearing his mask considering he was sleeping moments ago, and you would peek. Instead, you pay him no mind and start tying the laces of your boot.

“Showing those motherfuckers the highway to hell.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper- but you know he’s heard you. If he’s anything of a super soldier his hearing should be enhanced as well. When you get up with a slight huff, you only hear the tapping of his boots when he’s right behind you.

In a split second, you’re pushed up against the wall with a hand next to your face.

“If you think intimidation is going to stop me from going, I’m going to have to disappoint you, 76, I’ve been intimidated by far worse,” you say as you lace your words with venom. You’d gladly take this guy in a fight if it meant being able to leave.

You might not win it though, considering he seemed a good head taller and two times your size. But it was worth a try. You have your eyes roaming everywhere but his face- if he was wearing a look of disappointment, it would halt you in your determination.

“If you think I’m letting you go out there, agent, I think you’ll be the one disappointed.”

It’s hardly above a whisper, and due to the proximity you can hear the rumble in his voice even clearer.

You decide to be bold and look up.

_His eyes._

They’re a deep, rich, _angry_ blue and they’re staring right back into yours. Even in the dim lighting of the moon through the window, you can see the two scars that run down his face, but it makes him far from unattractive.

You were starting to wonder why he bothered to wear a mask.

“76, just...don’t,” you plead. It’s only now that you’re looking at him that the intimacy of this all is starting to intimidate you.

Which was worrying considering you didn’t even know his name properly. Sure, you knew it, but you hadn't technically been introduced to him yet.

“I’m your superior officer on this mission and this is an _order_ , agent.”

His constant use of the word ‘agent’ reminds you he doesn’t quite know your name yet, either. You move your hand up to his arm. Your first plan was to grab his wrist and push him off, until you realize that your hand might be slightly too small.

You settle for just lightly pushing.

“There are lives at stake here, _sir_ ,” his eyes narrow slightly at your sarcasm, “so I will politely decline following orders.”

He gives a sigh and runs his free hand over his face. He doesn’t seem quite as angry as you’d thought he’d be.

“At least let us work out a plan of attack. You’re not alone on this mission.”

“Zarya’s 5 towns away and the last time you and I were together somewhere I got shot in the leg. My chances are higher alone.”

“Your chances of dying, yes,” he raises his voice slightly at that. Your head peels back slightly out of surprise.

“If it means-“

“Dying there will save no one. They’ll just go on doing what they want if we don’t weed them out properly. You _cannot_ let your emotions deter your judgement.”

A slight pause. You’re holding your breath.

“I told you that before we left.”

He’s got you there. He did tell you that. Leaving now would be proving his point that you weren’t professional enough. It’s your turn to close your eyes as you quietly slide down the wall.

“I can’t live with myself if more people die,” you practically whimper, balling your fist against your forehead in an attempt to quiet down the emotions.

He squats down; still hardly keeping personal space in mind, his hand now on your knee as his thumb draws circles. It’s relaxing, even though you wouldn’t admit that out loud with a gun pointed to your head.

“We’re not going to let that happen. But we need you alive and joining our teamwork to have this succeed,” he mutters. You take a deep breath and look into his eyes again. They’ve mellowed down from angry, but right now you can’t quite determine what’s going on in his head.

“What about the note? They want me alone.”

He reaches out his hand and stands back up, motioning for you to do the same.

“It’s our turn to fool them, agent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in a day?! what am i?! trying to avoid my procrastination, that's what. hope they aren't lacking :D thanks for your support!


	10. legs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very graphic, again! lotsa blood. not too bad though but wanted to warn you :)

You took a deep breath. Ahead of you was the main entrance to the storage facility that you were going to walk through, hoping people wouldn’t shoot you on sight. You were carrying exactly what you had planned on carrying: 2 handguns, a pocketknife, and because Soldier: 76 had practically demanded it, a communication device.

You were glad you were able to turn your belt into a makeshift gun holster.

It was remarkably quiet: there was no semblance of human activity anywhere. But you knew better than that. With a deep breath and fire in your eyes, you kicked open the door with a gun in hand.

The only thing you could make out before you heard a sharp crack was the guy you had wanted to shoot since the beginning and a mass of people around him.

You quickly stumbled back, and before you could fully feel the pain of the impact, you could blood filling up your nose to the point where you couldn’t breathe through it. It was running down your chin and it’s when you recall the sickening crack that you realize someone had driven the back of their gun straight into your face.

“You decided to come, huh, little bunny?”

You grip your gun tighter, finger still not on the trigger considering you didn’t want to shoot yourself in the foot, but you manage to look up while you wipe some blood on your sleeve.

Hardly useful considering it kept streaming out. It had been a long time since you’d broken your nose but you were pretty sure this is exactly what it felt like.

“Whaddya want from me?” you slur, talking becoming a bit harder with the risk of choking on your own blood.

You get hit a second time, this time in your ribs. You can’t hear the crack now, but the sharp pain hitting you when you try to turn to the assailant is enough to assure you it is, indeed, cracked.

Maybe you should’ve come up with a plan that did not involve you going through the front door.

Maybe.

Your breaths are ragged at this point: it hurts to breathe deeply but with your nose incapacitated you feel the need to, but then your ribs remind you that's impossible. your face contorts in a mix of annoyance and pain and you try your best to stabilize your breathing as well as you can.

“Oh, not much. We know you’re working for Overwatch and we’d like some of that sweet technology you have for yourself...” his pause gives just the right amount of menace to the statement, “like your leg.”

You don’t have much time to react when the two guys that hit you push you down and you cry out in pain. The entire sensation of excruciating pain goes through your chest and you have, at this point, forgotten about your nose. The ache on your lower forehead it causes has become a drowned out kind of pain, silenced by the feeling as if a hammer is slamming against your midriff.

In a second, you make out a third person with an axe.

Your mind goes wild because if they are going to hurt you with that, you will not have to worry about much pain for very long.

“You gonna rob a lady of her leg? How gentlemanly.”

The joke earns you a kick in your stomach. Damn your mouth. They don't hit the fractured rib but every impact on your body translates to that place hurting.

Just gotta keep breathing, you remind yourself.

You can’t help but smirk, though, when they seem to realize that an axe would not suffice to separate your prosthetic limb from the rest of your body. One of the best mechanics had worked on it, what did they expect?

“Keep laughing, baby, when that leg is off we’re going to make sure you’re going to need a prosthetic for all of your limbs.”

The guy trying to get the prosthetic off has resorted to violently bashing and sure enough, there’s starting to be parts that get loose. It’s not enough to severe it, but because they’re hitting the knee all the support is tearing away.

When it’s reduced to a piece of metal dangling from your thigh, you are relieved to hear pained grunts and screams both to your left and right, followed by an explosion to your right.

Finally.

You’re quickly let go so your captors can go help their comrades, and it gives you time to climb up into a sitting position that doesn’t feel like someone stabbing your side. It still hurts: you have to keep still as good as you can but you are starting to get used to the pain.

You look down but all you see is red.

It is a mish-mash of action from that point on: you see bodies dropping and you make out splotches of white and blue and pink, but the only thing you’re focused on is getting your leg in good enough shape to stand up and not be deadweight.

Unfortunately, prosthetics weren’t really something you knew a whole lot about.

Soon enough, the sounds drown out and you see Zarya leaning in front of you.

“Can you stand, zaichik? Don’t be cry-baby now.”

You laugh, a gurgled sound accompanied by some blood flying out of your mouth. God, broken noses were a hassle. Laughing hurt like hell, as well, but you always had a problem keeping it in. You make a mental note to work on that.

“I’m fine but my leg is currently a noodle.”

To show her what you mean, you pick up the prosthetic by your ankle and twirl it around in angles it shouldn’t be able to twirl. She makes a funny face. When you accidentally get it stuck in a funky position, she snorts, and you can’t help but grin.

“Come. Soldier has surprise for you.”

She reaches her arm under your shoulders and you heave yourself up, careful not too upset your side too much. Soldier:76 is waiting in the middle of the building, the smart-ass who called you pet names on his knees with a very big gun pointed at his head. Zarya seems to pick up on the fact that she has to move slowly to make sure you don't cry out, and you're glad she has an eye for these kind of things.

“I guessed you’d want to do the honours, agent,” he says, but compared to his usual annoyed tone it seems somewhat amused.

You reckon it is because you’re leaking blood on Zarya with a leg that is bent forward so much you could rest a cup of coffee on it.

You’d love a cup of coffee right about now.

“Sure thing, 76,” you mutter, cleanly ending it right there and then.

The good thing about being a sniper was that you only got nauseous and sad at deaths of people you cared about. Seeing him keel over and hit the ground did nothing but please you.

“See you in hell, fucker.”

* * *

 You are having a déjà-vu when Fareeha storms in once again, and you are ready for another conversation about legs. It seemed to be a very regular thing when you met up with her.

This time, though, Zarya’s still carrying you and you still look positively ghastly, dried blood everywhere and bruising nose and eye.

“Hi, Fareeha.”

If looks could kill, you would drop dead to the ground.

“We had this conversation a week ago! Legs!”

The way she screams ‘legs’ in a haughty manner has you and Zarya both cracking up.

“Look, it’s fine. I can use it as a table, see?” you show her, by putting your gun on the sole of your foot. It takes a few seconds but finally she cracks a smile, albeit a very small one.

“Angela will not be happy.”

Zarya continues on and you look back over your shoulder.

“Up to you to comfort her, then!” you yell.

You can see her getting flustered even when the Russian is practically dragging you through the base. Dragging in a careful manner. Like she's holding a dainty flower that she needs to get water for real quick.

* * *

 “Really? A table?” Angela mutters, and you can see how tired she is with the way she just goes through the motions like a robot.

“Look, it’s better to laugh about it than cry about it, Angela.”

A deep sigh.

“I gave you that t-shirt. Look at it! Completely ruined.”

She points at your shirt and you are quite sure it is beyond saving at this point. There’s only so much blood you can wash out before your arm gets tired.

* * *

 You’re reading a book due to lack of other things you can do when McCree drags Soldier:76 behind him into the hospital room. You only look up to make out that it’s actually them, immediately turning back to your book.

“Yer leg’s gone, darlin’!”

McCree only says this when he’s already seated, Soldier leaning back against the small cupboard behind your bed.

“Jesse, that’s morbid.”

“You made that exact joke two weeks ago, sweetheart.”

You had in fact cracked that joke two weeks ago, and had almost given Hanzo a heart attack until the cowboy had explained to his boyfriend that you had lost it long ago. The archer hadn’t looked you in the eye since.

“Where is it, though?” Soldier asks. You sigh.

“Angela said Torbjörn wanted to make some adjustments while they repair it. I reckon she just wants to give me a bit of payback after all that blood I got on my suit.”

“Guessin’ you won’t be able to make it to poker night, then?”

“She took my crutches as well,” you sigh, “unless poker night can take place here? I feel like beating your ass.”

“You lost every damn game last time, darlin’. The day you beat me is the day I’m six feet under.”

You threw a weak punch at his shoulder while snorting.

“Go and get me a coffee, tough guy, instead of running your mouth.”

* * *

“How’d you lose it?” Soldier asks, and you hardly look up from your book.

“Infiltration in enemy base. We had bombs all over in case we couldn’t finish well. Had to detonate them. Ceiling pretty much covered me and by the time they dug me out amputation was the only option.”

He hums. You didn’t feel particularly bad about it anymore: it happened over ten years ago and you had adjusted well thanks to a boatload of therapy and some medication.

It’s silent for the next few minutes until you say your name.

“What?” he asks. You sigh.

“My name,” you repeat your first name loud and clear, “we haven’t actually introduced ourselves to each other yet. I’m tired of being called ‘agent’.”

He takes a moment to work through that logic until he has to agree.

“You already know mine.”

“I threw a theory your way. For all I know, you could be Jean-Jacques. Or Henry. Maybe Johnny.”

You came up with random names but you knew it threw him for a loop for a few seconds. Finally, he decides to take up McCree’s seat next to the bed.

“Morrison. Jack Morrison.”

Grinning, you extend your hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Morrison.”

You noticed he wasn’t wearing his gloves and his hand was nice and warm when he shook yours. He had a strong handshake, but it was far from uncomfortable. It felt nice, finally being able to drop this nonsense of knowing his name but not using it.

“And thanks for not letting me go alone. A broken nose and rib is a measly price to pay,” you sincerely say this time, still holding onto his hand.

“Don’t forget your leg.”

You pause for a little while because you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. After a few seconds, you hear him sigh.

“It’s a joke, ag- (name).”

You give a snort.

“You’re bad at joking, Morrison.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good thing I didn't cap it at ten chapters because there has been no romance yet. This was fun writing though. i've never broken a bone in my life and hope to keep it that way but i hope it's written at least a bit realistically. thanks for the support! you guys are lovely <3


	11. poker

Angela makes sure you don’t leave the medical wing by coming up with creative ways to hide your crutches. When Jesse brings you some, Hanzo awkwardly trailing along, and she promptly throws them out the window when she sees them.

Reinhardt visits your room later that evening asking you if you’d lost them. You told him, yes, you did, if he’d just kindly leave them next to your bed.

He did, but the next morning they were nowhere to be found again. You’re able to get out of bed but she has arranged the room in such a way that it is impossible for you to open the door without proper assistance.

Jesse then, one night, throws a crutch through the window, hits you in the nose and you are left having to explain to the doctor why it’s bleeding again.

Finally, you just try getting out without any help, but find that you were not as agile as you thought you were.

It’s currently 6:00 pm and poker night starts in half an hour. You’re lying face up on the bed, arms stretched so your hands dangle off of the edge. You’re listening to some music Lucio provided and are trying to forget that you’re missing out on the money making scheme of the week when the door whooshes open.

“Classy.”

Only one man would make such a remark, and it is the super soldier. He’d been visiting on and off accompanied by people but you never got further than small talk.

“Eat a dick, Morrison,” you say playfully, not even looking.

You’d see him closing the door and leaning against it, and if he wouldn’t be wearing his visor, you’d see the mischievous look in his eyes.

“That sad about poker night, huh?” he notes. You nod.

“I want to earn some pocket change to buy a walking stick Angela can’t take away from me.”

You hear a snort and it makes you grin, finally deciding to sit up.

It is then that you get an epiphany. She can throw crutches out the window, but she can’t throw _people_ out the window.

“Carry me.”

“Excuse me?” he notes, scanning your face for an explanation.

“Angela can’t throw you out. Carry me there, big guy.”

He only sighs.

“Look, I’ll buy you something if I win.”

It’s still quiet.

“It’s for the good of the world.”

“You sound like you have a gambling problem,” 76 then says, voice still calm.

Defeated, you drop back down on the bed.

“You are no fun, Morrison.”

You don’t bother looking up when you hear footsteps.

“How far is McCree’s room?” he asks tentatively, and you look up with a glint in your eyes.

“Just down the hall on the second floor. With your super soldier speed, we’ll be there before Angela can say ‘Mein Gott!’.”

The clock ticks quietly until he uncrosses his arms and leans down slightly.

“Well then, we’d better hurry.”

You were a hundred percent certain he did not expect you to leap on his shoulder, and you can hear a loud grunt. Maybe you were a bit too heavy; being an adult with sufficient muscle and such, but there was a reason why people called you ‘bunny’. You were also sure a super soldier could carry you without any real problems. Heck, Zarya had thrown you into the air once.

(She never did it again because you gave her a mighty tongue-lashing, but it was a good point of reference.)

“I’m not a young man anymore!” he remarks, but you laugh.

“Don’t care, giddy up, man! We’re gonna miss the first round!”

* * *

 You didn’t miss the first round. In fact, when you entered the room slung over Soldier’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, you could almost swear you heard a certain archer gasp at the sight. When he puts you down, he makes sure you are balanced properly.

With a hand on your back that is too warm and comfortable for your liking.

“Hey there, Hanzo, Reinhardt, Jesse,” you nod at the respective men as you claim a chair closest to you, “I’ve skipped leg day.”

You could almost hear the sighs but Reinhardt is grinning and that is the most important thing.

“Are you joining too, Jack?” Reinhardt almost smacks the life out of him in a friendly gesture- a pat on the back. McCree is already shuffling the cards and you watch closely to make sure he doesn’t cheat.

You know how good he is at it.

Begrudgingly, the vigilante seats himself at the table and Jesse starts distributing cards.

You don’t bet with chips, like normal people do, but with a variety of things. You bet a cleaning of a weapon, Reinhardt bets a training session with him (nobody actually wants to win that, but the idea is nice), and so on, and so forth. The night is well on its way and with everyone enjoying their drinks; it soon just turns into a screaming session about who is cheating.

You remember Reinhardt carrying you back to your room and you remember not thinking you’d need a pill for your headache the next morning.

You were wrong.

* * *

 Angela doesn’t make loud movements, the door closes relatively quietly, but everything seems so loud and obnoxious to your headache. You bury yourself further into the pillow.

“Rise and shine, Hase,” she says, and you can almost hear her smirk.

“Unless you have coffee or my leg, or both, I’m staying here.”

“Torbjörn finished up your prosthetic.”

You raise your head slightly, and indeed, she’s carrying it carefully. After some nice small talk, and you gladly putting the prosthetic back on after what feels like ages, she finally lets you out of the medical ward and back into your own room. Your broken nose and rib had healed ages ago, once again due to the scientific magic of her healing beams, and you had spent a good 2 days just sitting in a hospital bed for the heck of it.

At last, you could enjoy some free time without missions and stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of just a filler chapter to set a bit of a mood. Busy days are starting tomorrow so updates might be slower, but I'll try to have a regular upload schedule!


	12. training

It felt like an eternity that you’d been kept away from your training with Zarya, and even though she visited you often enough in the medical ward for funny remarks about your situation, you were glad you two could hang out again like always.

It was very reminiscent of the one time Zarya slipped up on a mission and had to spend a week getting healed, leaving you very lonely during your sit-ups.

“So leg has attachments now?” Zarya asks, not stopping her immaculate pace of pull-ups as you struggle to keep up.

“Yeah, something about moving faster. It’s almost like these people don’t know how fast I can run.”

You always had been a very fast runner: you loved it. You loved the breeze in your hair, the feeling of accomplishment when you’d finish a longer distance in a shorter time. Ever since you were young, it had been your thing. When she doesn’t reply immediately, you continue.

“These things make jumping easier, too.”

A pause.

A loud snort.

“Should I give you ears too, so you turn into real bunny?”

You drop from the chin-up bar and give her chiselled thigh a small push.

“You try that, I’m going to kill you,” you joke, and her rich laughter fills the training room. Some new recruits look up like the apocalypse had started.

Zarya loved to scare the new recruits. She drops down as well after finishing her set, rolling her shoulders and taking a sip of water.

“Let me see those enhancements, then,” she smiles.

* * *

The enhancements in and of itself weren’t too much, they mainly helped you leap further. Like a brace on your legs, they would help you kick off into a longer distance. It took a while getting used to the rebound, though, because the impact from your landing would still have to go somewhere.

Still, it was very fun to use. Winston had made sure there was a counterpart for your actual leg.

When you put them on, still kind of clumsy and messing around with the settings, Zarya laughs again.

“Not going very fast now, zaichik.”

“ _Ooh_ , I’m sorry I’m not a huge tech nerd like Winston.”

You both chuckle and when you hear a click, you know you’ve finally put them on correctly.

When you stand up wearing them, you are significantly taller. The Russian doesn’t loom over you anymore to the point where you can actually comfortably pat her head.

You don’t do that though, you wanted to keep that for situations where you’d actually have a reason to. Zarya starts off with a head start, but you easily catch up. Without the braces, you’d be able to go at her speed, but with them, you feel yourself advancing further ahead.

You shouldn’t look backwards while running when you’re not in a dangerous situation. In your reverie of passing your friend with ease, head tilted back to shout a mocking remark, you actually collide with something roughly your height and grunting.

You manage to make sure you fall backwards (don’t want Angela having to fix your nose again) and the thing you collided with is not fazed.

The thing is Soldier:76, training another group of recruits. They look absolutely bummed out: sweaty, tired, one is on the verge of tears. You feel a kind of pity, until you remembered Reinhardt, who gave you training. He was a kind man, yes, but at the same time, it was horrible.

You awkwardly stand up, embarrassed at the fact that you fell, and he didn’t. You’d been running pretty damn fast.

“Eyes on the road, agent,” he jokes, offering you a hand to get back up.

With the tips of your ears red and your heart hammering in your chest, you get up. You tried to hide it skilfully by releasing the ponytail you’d been keeping your hair in. Hopefully he didn’t notice.

“Uh, yeah, will do.”

* * *

You were cleaning McCree's gun meticulously after he reminded you that afternoon that you had indeed lost at poker. He was spread out on the floor in front of you, seemingly sleeping, but you knew better.

He loved basking in his victory.

"Heard you ran into one o' them super soldiers in front of the recruits."

He says it playfully, as if there are multiple super soldiers to run into around the base. It annoys you slightly, his tone, and the speeding of your heart rate definitely annoys you as well. You slip with your hand,  _but not really_ , so that it launches into his side.

"Oh, sorry. My hand slipped."

Your tone and expression are dry as bread left out too long. (You were hungry)

"No need to be bashful, kitten."

"I was testing my new leg braces with Zarya. He was in the way."

"Sure, darlin'."

"I am pretty sure I was there and you were not."

"Look, I'm all for them stubborn types, but if you want some of that sweet daddy-lovin', you're gonna have to be upfront about it."

There were several things wrong with this sentence: first off, you didn't need to know that McCree's preference was stoic, stubborn people. You knew that the moment he started hanging around Hanzo. Secondly, even though the new recruits had a tendency to call him dad, you were significantly older and more mature than those particular recruits and you would rather not think of the implications McCree made.

"I'm not a little girl all starry-eyed for some good-looking vigilante."

"Oh, so you think he's good-looking, huh?"

_Damnit._

You didn't mean to insert that wording into your sentence.

"McCree, I swear to god I'll accidentally pull the trigger if you don't shut your filthy mouth."

He laughed. McCree's laugh was a hearty chuckle, warm and kind, as always. It made the corners of your lips twist up into a smile, even though you tried to keep a stoic face.

"Jus' wanna see you less pent up, darlin'."

You jabbed him in the side, this time with your boot.

"Does Hanzo know you only think about sex 24/7?"

"Honey, he loves me for it."

You made a fake gagging noise in the hopes he wouldn't indulge you in his private life. Sure, McCree was good looking, and Hanzo as well, but you'd rather they keep it private. All you needed to know is that it went well between them, and _clearly_ it did.

"So, you gonna tell the soldier you think he's a handsome fella?"

You give an undignified snort at his suggestion, and you notice he's still grinning.

"Like hell. He'd probably just stare me down and be annoyed."

McCree makes a sound that makes it seem like he's agreeing. He has to, you were right. You had a distinct feeling in your gut this crush wasn't going to lead you anywhere regardless of how you went about it.

"For all that snark you're lacking some confidence there, darlin’."

You felt like snapping back again, but you remained quiet, focused on the cleaning the grip with your mop. It seemed the cowboy had rolled around in the dirt with his damn gun just to spite you. McCree continued, taking your silence as an invitation.

"Lookie here, if I wasn't otherwise preoccupied, I wouldn't mind you runnin' into me. Soldier's not blind."

"I'm pretty sure his type is not 'snarky, snorting women with a tendency to have emotional outbursts'."

"Couldn't've described you better m'self but I gotta remind you that you don't know what his type is."

"And you do?"

"Yeah."

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the confident response he gives you.

"What?"

He gives you a smirk and raises his hat a bit, making sure you see him wink.

"Ya never did much snoopin' on me but I know a lot of things, darlin'."

You didn't. Because of the cowboy's open and friendly nature you had never felt the need to look into his back story, or figure out how his mind worked. You only wanted to know things people kept hidden, and McCree was never one to really hide away from anything.

* * *

That night, you decide to dig a bit deeper into what he said. Maybe he just wanted to get a rise out of you and didn't actually know anything, but it couldn't hurt to find out what Soldier's type was. Matter of burying these feelings before they started soaring too high.

You carefully follow the vigilante around, going as far as bribing one of the new recruits (a tall, lanky dude with an adorable stutter, who was apparently very good at science and the likes) to ask him where he's headed. When you enter the cafeteria, exactly 7 minutes and 38 seconds after he did, you are confident he has no clue what you're doing.

So you head to the coffee machine, grab your magazine and sit yourself down opposite him. It's like a déjà-vu.

"So, how's training the newbie's going?" you ask nonchalantly taking a sip of your drink.

"Decent," he grunts, "some should train with Winston rather than with me."

"Yeah, heard one kid dropped out because you made him cry."

Tall, lanky kid loved talking.

"I thought you didn't interact with recruits?"

"Doesn't hurt to get to know them. The ones that will stick around."

He grunts in agreement again.

Instead of letting the comfortable silence last, you decide to try and start up a conversation again. All you needed was a pivotal point to suddenly talk about types of people Soldier fell for.

Couldn't be _that_ hard, could it?

Even though it had been at least 10 years since you'd worried about something like that.

"Glad you weren't training me when I first got here, probably would have left crying as well."

You see his forehead move as one of his eyebrows is raised. You hate the way you watch the part of the scar move, wondering how it all looked without the visor. Now that you knew, you just kept imagining.

"You got shot in the leg and soldiered on."

He had a bit of a point. But if he was right, that would make the conversation end.

"Unwillingly. Training is willingly, if you want to get somewhere."

He looks up from whatever he was doing- you didn't bother checking when you went to sit down.

"If I was your superior I'd work on that caffeine addiction, though."

He's got a friendly lull in his tone that shows he just wants to get a reaction out of you. The shift in conversation you had made since you first had seen him was amazing. You pretty much went from biting remarks and hostility to Soldier:76, wanted vigilante, comfortably making funny remarks about your habits.

"You're going to have to rip my coffee out of my cold, dead hands."

"I've noticed."

Its small things like that which make your heart flutter ever so slightly and you hate it.

_He noticed._

God, you were turning into a lovesick teenager.

"You never drink coffee?" you ask, curiously, as you take another sip.

"Occasionally. Do you ever drink anything else?"

"Of course I do. People can't survive on coffee."

He chuckles softly. You want to continue talking, continue keeping this conversation going for the sheer fact that it is so comfortable, until Tracer runs in and startles the both of you.

"Winston needs to see you, love," she says. There's no particular sentiment except hurry in her voice.

Soldier watches you retreat, Lena in tow. It's a nice view, he muses. He quickly turns back to the table once he catches that thought roaming through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably be up next week, weekend's going to be very busy! But we're getting somewhere ;) Thanks for the support!


	13. charm

“That...is….gross…” you mused as you looked down at Winston’s desk.

Previously wrapped in washed-out grey cotton that had now turned a dark, muddy red, was the paw of a small creature. You weren’t particularly good at biology, but it couldn’t have been a dog, at least. You knew what dog paws looked like.

“Indeed. There was a note that just said ‘we are coming for you’, wrapped together with the rabbit’s paw.”

Oh, so it was a rabbit. Well, part of a rabbit.

“I don’t see why I have to know about that in particular.”

You say that mainly because your mind is still trying to work out what Soldier’s type of person is instead of worrying about empty threats. It's vague. So very vague. The only correlation was that before you finished your mission with Zarya, there were people very keen on getting your leg, and you were known as-

You rub your eyes.

“Ok, so, since when does Overwatch concern itself with petty threats?” you ask when the click happened in your head. Lena is quiet, looking back and forth between you and Winston. The gorilla is looking stressed out.

“Since they put them at our entrance. Which is supposed to be hidden. And unknown.”

He says it so matter-of-factly you are confused whether he is acting condescending towards you or is just trying to justify it to himself how it could happen. You guess it’s the second one: this was not explicitly your fault, after all.

“They could’ve done a lot worse than a paw if they wanted to abuse their knowledge.”

Winston lets you go after that. He hated to admit it, but sometimes you had a good point. They couldn’t act on this as long as nothing severe happened.

* * *

Zarya’s late.

You are absentmindedly leaning against the bench press, looking back and forth between your watch and the door.

Zarya was never late. She’d sometimes come rushing in right on time, but her love for training far surpassed her love for annoying you. That’s what you first thought: maybe she’s pulling a prank? That was possible, in some way, but Zarya didn’t seem like the type to prank people if they hadn’t pranked her. And you most certainly hadn’t.

“Coffee again?”

You are awoken from your thoughts as you hear 76’s low rumble enter your head. Man, talk about relaxing.

“Zarya’s late. Gotta do something,” you shrug, noticing the vigilante is leaning on the other side of the bench press.

“You could help me train recruits.”

You know it’s a teasing tone by the way he makes it into a question. If he wanted to, he could easily order you around. You let out a single laugh.

“Ha! Good one, Morrison.”

Looking over to where the new recruits are, you noticed the group had gotten smaller compared to yesterday. Not by much: 2, maybe 3 people had left. You waved at tall and lanky dude, before turning to Soldier.

“You aren’t exactly training them, are you? You’re just standing there.”

He gave what seemed like an awkward mix between a grunt and a snort at your statement. Turning your head to at least look at his visor, you noticed he was also holding a steaming cup. Either he had carried soup all the way from the cafeteria or he started to understand why you needed coffee. That didn’t take away from the fact that he was actually wearing his visor. Would he take it off when his beverage had cooled down? So many questions came up every time you saw this man.

“It’s called supervising,” 76 retorted.

“Well, I’m supervising your supervision.”

He now turned to you as well, at your silly statement. This was a hunch on your part, but the slight pause he gave before talking again told you that something was up.

“Someone’s sent a threat to Zarya. Someone has sent a threat to you. There seems to be a pattern here, agent.”

It’s not accusing, no matter how much the sentences are formed like an accusation, but you had pretty much stopped listening after the first sentence.

“Who in their right mind would threaten a 6 foot 5 woman with massive muscles?”

Soldier gives a shrug. You finish your cup of coffee, crushing it and launching it towards the bin- only to miss it completely and hit one of the recruits on the head.

“Ah.”

“I’d prefer it if you don’t hit my recruits with your waste,” Soldier says dryly. You smirk.

“What are you, their dad?” you joke.

No reaction.

“They call you daddy?” you continue, snorting before realizing the implications of that sentence when said from one adult to another. Almost instantly, colour drains from your face. It wasn’t even that funny. You just wanted to keep the conversation going and had, by mistake, made a dreaded _bad joke._

You know, the kind of joke you love telling your friends but hate to tell your parents.

Not that you wanted to compare Soldier to your parents, quite the opposite-

Ah, who are you kidding? You are stuck in a deep pit.

Because, you see, this was quite the pickle. Do you play it off as a harmless joke, a quip, not at all meant to have any sexual implications? Because you could try to deny it, but it most definitely lead to you thinking about less than appropriate positions the soldier could be in. And that was the last thing you needed after that conversation with McCree.

Or wait- do you take McCree as an example and just roll with this flirty path you’ve gone down?

Maybe you should take Tracer as an example and bolt.

Soldier, however, doesn’t say anything. If you hadn’t been so busy worrying about the next part of the conversation, you’d notice the tips of his ears are red. You might have seen the clenching fist that almost ruined the coffee cup as he can imagine a bit too realistically how it could spill from your lips in a different situation.

Instead you settle for seeing your palm as it collides with your forehead.

“I...uh...I’ll go look for Zarya.”

You use your fast running and practically leap through the door.

* * *

You still didn't look Soldier in the eye, even after 3 days had passed. If you did, you were almost certain your head was going to implode.

_Daddy_.

God, you could be one heck of a moron sometimes.

You are stirring your soup for 10 full minutes before Hanzo decides to finally ask you what is wrong. He was just enjoying his lunch, when you sat down at the opposite end of the table, your face a mixture between flushed and panicked. He had never really seen you like that and preferred to keep out of your business, but felt compelled to help you after 10 minutes of the same depressing motion. You were a good friend of Jesse, after all.

"Are you alright?"

Hanzo always had a regal sort of air about him- it snaps you out of the weird daydream that was simultaneously arousing and depressing.

"Not really, but who ever really is?"

Well, he certainly didn't expect that one.

"It seems to me you need to relax. You seem stressed."

He is startled when you drop your spoon in your bowl, but he doesn't show it. He did have nerves of steel, even though your behaviour was very peculiar.

Your eyes are zoned out on his ponytail.

_Very_  peculiar.

* * *

"Zaichik," you hear Zarya say when you make the awkward walk between the cafeteria and your room, a place where you could potentially run into Soldier:76, "we need talk."

Her tone is serious, and though Zarya was serious most of the time, this was new. You just follow her into the training room, where Soldier is waiting as well.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose and vouch to stay calm.

"What's the haps, paps?"

It is only seconds after saying that when your mind makes another unnecessary correlation between 'paps' and 'papi' and ultimately the word you had been dreading for a few days now. Your eyes narrow at your own stupidity.

"What did they send you?" Soldier asks, not oblivious to your funny behaviour but choosing to ignore it.

"Rabbit's leg. Paw. Whatever."

Zarya dramatically places her hand on your shoulder.

"Something funny is up. We need investigation."

"Ok, why do I need to be here for that conclusion?" you ask, hoping to leave before the vigilante notices you are looking anywhere but the thin red stripe that is supposed to cover his eyes. Zarya takes a moment to blink at you. Then, as if you are a small child, she leans down a bit so her eyes are level with yours.

"Zaichik, you are acting funny. But that is alright. Forget problems and help us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a liar. typed this up during my free time at work. next chapter will actually be next week, unless i feel insane. i'm eating spaghetti again. thanks for your support! i am very tired. (not of the story, I just need sleep.) Not too happy about the last part, but alas.


	14. meeting

The meeting room was bustling with activity when you entered. You were carrying, as always, your trusty mug filled with coffee, as well as a holopad with all the necessary reports and potential information that could be used for this mission. After agreeing that the coinciding of the threats was too obvious, Winston proposed getting together a team to find the perpetrators and in the best case, give them a good scare.

Worst case....

Well, you didn't want to worry about that yet. It could just be a couple of pranksters. With a very morbid sense of humour.

"Could you all keep quiet for just one second?!"

Winston booms above all the noise and suddenly it was very quiet, except for your slurping.

"Late as always, agent," the gorilla sighs as you seat yourself next to Hanzo.

"Couldn't find a cup."

"Better late than never, darlin'," McCree muses, tipping his hat in greeting. You nod back, also giving a slight greeting to Hanzo. He reluctantly returned it. On the other side of the table were Mercy, Soldier and Zarya, with Winston sitting at the head of the table. You were surprised Pharah didn't want to join in. Hell, you didn't really know why there were so many people needed when last time just the three of you got out fine.

Well. Fine. You were a bit battered.

"Now that you're all here," Winston starts, giving you the stink eye for a brief second, "this meeting is opened. We don't know who we're after and what their goal is, but it seems that they've singled out the people who took down the gang. To elaborate on that, we still don't know either a name nor have gotten an actual clue as to whether or not these 'pranksters' belong to their group."

"But how would they know about Overwatch if they don't belong to that group?" Angela asks, and a few of you nod in agreement.

"Details do not matter. We need to squash them like bug."

"We don't know where to squash," Soldier chimes in after Zarya's statement, and she has to agree to that. At this point in time, all you had was a rabbit's paw, the letters they had sent to Zarya and the cryptic message they had apparently tried to get to Soldier.

“The important thing,” Winston nods, “is that they have information they shouldn’t. For all we know, they might have information about family, friends, and your career.”

You hum.

“They did want my leg. So they know it’s made by a damn good engineer,” you mutter. You had noticed Hanzo was stealing glances at the holopad you were scrolling through while the conversation was going.

“So we bust ‘em, right?” McCree shrugs, lighting his cigarette.

“How?” Hanzo asks immediately. You were surprised he decided to join in. He usually just took his missions without questions and then went on his way.

“There are 6 of us here. How many of them are there?” he asks in succession. You looked at the screen in thought.

You had previously either overestimated or underestimated their numbers, leaving you with no clue how many people you could expect.

“It’s a gamble,” Soldier mutters, probably thinking the same as you. You had actively tried not to look at him; still slightly reeling from your awkward comment, but you couldn’t help but look up. His visor was turned in your direction so you could only assume he was also looking at you and Hanzo. Instantly, your eyes return to the screen in front of you.

“It is not first time we are outnumbered,” Zarya muses, crossing her arms on the table as she looks at everyone with fire in her eyes, “last person that threatened me did not like it. I will keep up that tradition.”

Mercy narrows her eyes wondering about _that_ story, but you could see she decided against asking.

“We will have to go to them eventually, or they’ll come here,” Winston agrees with the Russian.

“Do we know where t’ go, then?” McCree asks, a puff of smoke leaving his mouth and rising up into the air-conditioning. Winston nods, an excited glint in his eyes.

“D.VA and I have been analyzing the reports, the data disk Hase brought back, as well as fingerprints. We should have a good idea in a day. That leaves you with enough preparation,” he scans the room, looking at each and every one of you, “we have two snipers,” you give a nod but Hanzo’s face remains stoic, “3 foot soldiers,” Zarya gives a grin, “and a healer. They don’t know what’s coming if they expect to take you out.”

* * *

You are one of the last people to leave the meeting room once Winston has given you a time to meet at the drop ship, casually packing the holopad back into your bag and chatting with Winston about how you were supposed to take your coffee- a discussion he can’t win. When you stroll out, Soldier’s waiting on the opposite side of the hallway, arms crossed and casually leaning back.

“Uh...hi?” you mutter, waving quietly as you turn left. He follows.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he notes. Unconsciously, you had put a bit more speed in your step, but it’s no use speed walking away from a person who could get faster than you.

“It’s uh, it’s not your fault. Feeling kinda awkward about my stupid comment back at the training room.”

You figured clear communication was better than just speed-walking away. Even though it made things even more awkward for the time being.

“Oh.”

You didn’t expect to get him speechless. You slow down a bit again, and he takes a few steps before he realizes you are falling behind.

“ _That’s_ why you’ve been avoiding me?” he asks again, and you see his forehead move a bit as if he is raising his eyebrow. You give a smile when you scratch the back of your head.

“Figured you’d feel pretty weird about it.”

There is a pause. You are convinced the silence is only proving your point when he shrugs.

“I know McCree. Hardly surprising.”

You can’t help but hum in agreement, considering that is a pretty valid point. McCree was a walking sex pun with a silly hat and looks too good for his own good.

“So, uh, you don’t think anything of it?” you ask tentatively, fiddling with a strap on your bag.

You don’t see him look down to see how adorable that looks.

“No. Communication is important, agent. I’d hate to lose it over your continuous bad mouth.”

He seems to say it to convince himself more than you: but you’ll take it. Your smile widens and you are practically beaming.

“Right-o, Soldier. I’ll keep it in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know! We're jumping back into action pretty soon so I wanna keep the lengthy talks for other chapters. Thanks for the support!


	15. drool

“You have everything, zaichik?”

Zarya’s voice entered your ears while you were packing the last thing you needed- a change of clothes. You didn’t want to end up staining a shirt with blood and then having nothing to wear in its place (leading to awkward stares, most of the time). You pushed down on the bag of snacks you had not-so-skilfully squashed in there as well.

You knew how quiet sniping missions with Hanzo could get and eating could take your mind off of it.

“Think so. Has Winston gotten the coordinates?” you mused, closing the bag with a forceful tug at the zipper and slinging it over your shoulder.

Zarya wasn’t carrying much: the bag for her gun was enormous, considering the weapon was huge, but besides that, she didn’t really seem to pack anything. You sometimes wondered if she even had any clothes besides her usual attire and her training outfit.

She gave you a confident nod and you strolled towards the dropship together, chattering about unimportant things. You were the last to arrive there: Angela had already made herself comfortable at the helm as she was preparing for takeoff, while the men had all seated themselves.

Zarya rolled her shoulder before unceremoniously slinging her bag into the ship, almost demolishing a stack of crates. You settled for quietly entering, silently greeting everyone on board and sitting yourself down close to Mercy.

You are spacing out momentarily as you actually depart: your eyes glazed and focused on a stray piece of bandage rolling around the floor when you see a crotch in front of your vision. Because of the temporary haze that clouded your mind, you find yourself jumping up backwards into your seat.

McCree, the resident crotch, laughs.

“Bad conscience, darlin’? Here’s the file Winston wanted us to go through.”

You take the holopad, embarrassed, as you give his shin a slight tap with your foot.

“Don’t go scaring people preparing for sniping, McCree.”

His chuckle continues for a few minutes but you focus on the holopad.

The mission, once again, seemed relatively simple. Save for the fact that you had no idea what to expect. Fingerprints and DNA had been traced back to a remote location in the south of Spain, in Los Moras. You still didn’t quite figure out how they could do that, but you took it. There’d only been 2 sets of fingerprints so the amount of perpetrators was completely unknown, but you could only guess it should be around 20 people. Since the disbanding after your elimination of the gang leader, several smaller cartels had formed. But because of the destructiveness of the business, hardly any of them had large numbers or big threats.

The only worry was how they knew who you were and how to contact you.

Then again, there had been a lot of information breaches lately thanks to a mystery person working for Talon. You hadn’t actually been involved with them yet and you’d like to keep it that way after Zarya’s story.

You and Hanzo would be trying to find the actual holders of the DNA they found, considering he was exceptional at sneaking around and you had a visor that could help you identify, while Soldier:76, Zarya and McCree would cause chaos. Mercy would mainly hang around the ship and come in for assistance if need be.

It was a solid plan. You still were hesitant if you really needed this many people, but it did give you a feeling of confidence and relief. And though Hanzo was a quiet and brooding fellow, you knew he was very good at what he did.

* * *

When you were done looking at specifics- mainly a run-through of the notes you had already made about their weapons- you carefully put the holopad down next to you and decide to take a nap. There was no better time than now: the flight would take a good 3 hours and upon arrival, you only needed to settle in the bungalow Winston had rented until the next day.

On top of that, you needed sleep. Your schedule had been so messed up it was turning into a disaster. A disaster that translated into bags under your eyes the size of Germany and the occasional headache you’d get if you tried to focus too much.

You were leaving the waking world- slowly, red and blue dots flying in front of your closed eyes and the annoying hum of a headache still on repeat- when Zarya slapped her hand down on your thigh. How did you know it was Zarya?

No one else would slap somebody who is almost sleeping on the thigh.

At least, you hoped so.

When you opened one eye slightly, it was indeed a mass of blue and pink in your vision range.

“What?” you squeak, and Zarya hands you a holopad.

“I already went through the report, Zarya,” you sigh, really just wanting a rest. Was it too much to ask?

Yes, yes it was.

“Is not report. Winston just sent this. Is what they know about us.”

You just raise your eyebrow at her; why would you need to read that? You already know everything about yourself. Her stare down was inevitable, though, and you really needed this nap, so you calmly started reading.

It had...excessive detail.

It was, of course, widely known that you missed a leg, but the actual details of the situation were limited to a report left for your commanding officer at the time. Besides that, your team knew as well, but that was it. On top of that they had even detailed your reactions to whatever had happened along recent missions- the gunshot wound in your calf, but more importantly a clear description of your reaction to the broken nose and rib.

As if they were there.

“So they’re leftover members?” you ask, narrowed eyes, carefully going over it.

“I do not know,” Zarya shrugged, taking a seat next to you.

“No shit, Sherlock. But they have to be, right?”

“You tell archer man to be careful as well. You will be separated from team.”

You hummed in confirmation.

“Mercy’ll be close, though.”

“A lot of things can happen in blink of eye.”

You would say she was being ominous, but she was just making a statement.

* * *

You luckily were able to take a power nap shortly after handing the holopad back and shooing the Russian away. The bungalow was surprisingly big- a necessity for 6 people, but still.

“Oh man, bunk beds,” you noted, throwing your bag down on the top one.

“This is very nostalgic,” Angela smiled, shrugging off her armour for now. You reckoned she wore it just so she didn’t have to pack 2 bags, and she did have a point. She was, by far, the only one who was that heavily armoured for battle.  
You’d count Zarya, but she tended to just dress like that.

“You think I can take a nap?” you asked her, already pulling yourself up and leaping into it.

It wasn’t particularly soft, but it would do just fine. It had an old feel to it, like it had been a while since people had slept here.

“As your doctor, I encourage you to.”

You had always easily understood the comparison to an angel people made when they met Angela- her smile was like a ray of light. You grinned back and threw off your coat, draping it over your chest and snuggling into the pillow.

“Wake me for dinner,” you mutter, but she’s already quietly closing the door.

* * *

You were having a particularly _weird_ dream- running from someone while eating a bag of old chips and you were apparently wearing sunglasses- when you heard the door open and the floor creak.

Oh, and there was a dog in there too. A pretty dog. Just really out of place.

You had turned towards the wall in your sleep: when you opened your eyes, all you saw was worn down wood.

“You up, agent?”

You hadn’t really talked to Soldier after admitting you felt embarrassed about your slip-up, but it was mainly because everything happened really fast afterwards.

“Only if you have some coffee,” you say back, voice slightly lulling at the end.

“I knew you’d say that,” he retorts, and you hear the sloshing of liquid. You perk up almost instantly, turning to see that he is, indeed, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

“Figured you’d like some.”

You just smile, throwing off your coat and jumping down gracefully, settling on the bed below the one you slept in. He joins your side as he hands the cup of caffeinated goodness over to you.

“Got some rest?”

You didn’t know why he was trying to have a conversation with you, particularly at this time, but the feeling of just sitting with him, sipping a drink, talking about silly nothings is so _comfortable._

“Yeah, finally. Won’t have to worry about me, Morrison.”

You hear an appreciative grunt. You did not actually know whether he liked or disliked you calling him by his name- you just felt like it was more personal and friendly.

“Good.”

You look around the room as your elbows rest on your knees, trying to find another topic to keep this going.

“You, uh…” he starts but lingers, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?” you ask bluntly.

He points to the side of his cheek. Well, mask. Visor. His finger trails down and you first think he is being silly and trying to scratch away an itch, until you feel it.

You had been drooling slightly.

Almost instantly, you turn red, turning your head at such speed that your hair almost slams into his face- he’s wearing a visor so it’s fine, you can’t blind him- rubbing at your chin maniacally.

What you hear then is a low, soft chuckle coming from the man next to you. Endearing, almost. You want to think it’s more than friendly but you are almost certain it’s not, although the sounds are soothing.

“So, forgetting that embarrassing moment…” you begin, “you ready for tomorrow?”

It’s a stupid question: of course he is ready. You know he’s ready. He knows he’s ready. You just want him to continue talking.

“Stupid question, agent.”

He still doesn’t quite use your name. Probably a military thing. Wants to keep his distance. Maybe after your stupid _stupid_ comment, your subconscious notes.

When you remain silent, he nudges your elbow.

“I want you to rely on us. As a team. We don’t know what might happen out there.”

You nod again, not quite convinced.

“I’m going to need an answer to that, agent.”

His tone is surprisingly demanding, but you know he means well. You turn with a million dollar grin plastered on your face.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer chapter! oooooooooh we're getting close. i am surprised because this is the longest series i've ever written that will actually get a proper end.


	16. helicopter

The point where you would be sniping was the roof of a hotel. It was a pretty good location- you had full view of the city, after all- but it was also surprisingly high. If something were to happen either to you or the ground-team, it would be hard to get back in touch.

So instead of letting Hanzo sneak around, you all collectively decided he would join you on the top. You liked that very much- he had more than once shown his prowess and you did want to see how an _archer_ kept up with modern-day sniping technology.

And you did have a running bet with McCree about who could shoot the most accurate from atop your location.

Hanzo didn’t know, and you wanted to keep it that way.

“Have you checked the perimeter?” you ask him when you are both riding the elevator to the top floor, absentmindedly toying with some straps on your bag. He gives a curt nod.

“Nobody knows we are here.”

Hanzo, you see, had some tricks up his sleeve you didn’t know about. You had snuck into the hotel unnoticed, through some smelly backdoor. There weren’t many people around- it was around the hours most people were busy cleaning and cooking, and Hanzo had lead you through a multitude of narrow corriders when you reached the lift.

It was in use, though.

No matter for Hanzo, apparently. He motioned for you to take one side, while he leaned against the other, arrow at the ready. You’d left your sniper rifle in the bag, opting for a smaller, lighter gun to carry around now.

He had asked you if you were ready, and right before you could add a funny comment to your nod, he attached the smallest glowing circle to the door.

You didn’t expect it to explode and if it weren’t for the fact that you were trained for this, you would have shit your pants in surprise. He was swift -he knew the explosion was going to happen- and easily knocked out two janitors. Despite his complaining, you moved them to a more comfortable spot to wake up in.

You didn’t notice him putting down the smoke bomb either, but you reckoned he knew what he was doing. He had known very clearly up until now.

When you arrived at the top, there was only a flight of stairs left to lead you up onto your spot. The roof was very empty: there were some solar panels and the entrance where you came from, but it was alarming that there was hardly a manner of hiding if there were enemy shooters.

You turned to the archer.

“This is an awfully barren place,” you mused, throwing down your bag and setting up your rifle, taking care to point it into the correct direction from the start. Hanzo still had an arrow at the ready, circling around the roof.

“It is our only vantage point,” he answered before turning on his comm. device, “how are things there?”

You heard some discussion until Zarya answered.

“We are good. You two have view of perimeter?” she asked, and you could hear the caution in her voice.

“Yep,” you shrugged, adjusting your lens and sitting down on your knees, “how ‘bout you, Mercy?”

“I am ready.”

It was an immediate reply.

You were humming for a few minutes, waiting, scanning, until Hanzo spoke again. It was by far the most he had spoken to you in one day by now.

“How much time do we have?”

You passed him a smaller holopad with some details, including time and place.

“This is what Winston and D.VA conjured up,” you smiled, “hope they are correct.”

* * *

You had had another hour until your enemy would arrive- or emerge, whichever- and you had both spent it looking around for the most part. In front of your lens were rundown buildings, a shoddy view for whoever decided to rent the penthouse suite. It was a small town; and for the most part, it was poor. It was clear by the cracks in the walls and the dirty streets.

Every so often, a person would pass down the long street carrying groceries or hurrying over to the nice part of town- the part you weren’t particularly surveying. Winston and Hana hadn’t been able to determine were exactly you’d find the perpetrators, but you figured it wouldn’t be hard for Zarya to shoot through three houses at once. The walls were thinner than regulation.

“We are going in. Be ready,” Soldier suddenly boomed through the headset, slightly startling you. At first, you nodded, but then you realised that only Hanzo could see that.

He didn’t, he was focused on one of the buildings, one arrow ready to fire and two others in his hand. He looked really badass.

“Copy that, sir.”

A hand would’ve shot to your mouth if it wasn’t for the fact that you needed them on your weapon right now, but this was the second time you’d said something completely and utterly irrelevant to the situation.

Not that you’d mind calling him sir. It was just a really weird time to.

You could hear a chuckle from McCree in the background but Morrison remained surprisingly quiet. You were certain Hanzo had also noticed your blush, considering you wore your hair up on missions and he was right beside you. You were also sure he was staring at you for a split second, but you shrugged it off.

Focus, focus.

On the _right_ things.

* * *

It started suddenly- no noises, no sign, Winston’s calculation be damned- when someone armed ran out of the furthest house, darting through the streets carrying...bombs?

You zoomed in and indeed, they were.

“Bombs in the street. Might be more-”

You don’t have time to continue before an arrow whizzes down, taking down the assailant with a swift shot through the head. Hanzo reloads.

“We’re goin’ in,” McCree says softly, but you can hear the kicking of a door and then silence. You don’t let your eyes wander, but you hand Hanzo a note.

“If things go bad- Winston gave that to me. Fuck all to do with me but it’s an escape route.”

“We are leaving no one behind.”

Hanzo’s also not letting his eyes roam, you know, because his voice is stern but concentrated, and you smirk.

“Sure thing, Shimada. But you keep it safe.”

You know you don’t get a smile but if you two had the time to look at each other, you’d see his lips twitch.

* * *

It takes another five minutes for something to happen- at least for the two of you. You’d wished it hadn’t, though. You suddenly hear the steady rhythm of a humming helicopter, clearly behind the two of you.

You both don’t think- you instantly leap toward the entrance, clutching your gun under your arm: it’s heavy but it’s not as bad as dying- while Hanzo runs like a fucking hurricane, helping you sit up behind it by grabbing your arm.

“We got a helicopter here-”

A machine gun fires away and you can hear it swirl- they’re coming for you. You don’t have the proper setting for your rifle, considering they are blowing it to shreds right now, but you manage a somewhat steady position as you get ready to fire blind into the fray.

“More assailants on the ground, we are going, zaichik.”

Hanzo fires his heat-seeking arrows- a miracle of modern technology in your eyes- and you can hear some screams and the breaking of glass. Temporarily, the shooting stops, and you take it as your only chance.

You leap out from your hiding place, grabbing your bag and the two grenades you had tucked in there, instantly pulling off the safety ring and flinging it right into the heli.

You are knocked down unceremoniously by the blast and it shoots past you and heads straight for the ground in a flurry of smoke and fire.

“Incoming.”

The dry tone Hanzo uses to say that makes you snort and you get up, relieved that this miscalculation only got you a scraped knee and elbows.

You two instantly are pulled out of your victory moment, though, when you hear gunshots and a strangely familiar set of groans in your ear.

“Soldier? Do you copy?”

It’s McCree that asks first but it is quiet for the longest time until there’s laboured breathing.

“Fine.”

It’s a grunt but it sends a shiver down your spine- and not because of your raging hormones.

“We are coming down-” you hastily mutter, “get ready for an attack, you two.”

“I am always ready,” Zarya confidently smirks.

* * *

The run back to solid ground is surprisingly less exciting or fast. You had hoped Shimada would pull another trick out of his sleeve, but it seems he ran out. When you arrive in the street, the corpse of the guy he shot- quite cleanly, you note, now that you can see- is spread out in the middle of the road and you see a few houses with broken glass and blood splatters.

“I will go look there,” Hanzo says, pointing to the right before running off at the speed of light, throwing open doors. You have no time to waste- you leap for the first house that might have Soldier in it.

Adrenaline keeps you from being worried.

First house- nothing but dusty tables and dirty couches. You are quick to move to the next one.

It takes another 2 houses before you enter one that has blood mixed with sand running down from under the front door.

Your heart stops when you open it and you see two corpses of people clad in quite the same outfit as the one Hanzo took down- they are shot, but it’s messy. You carefully step over them without letting down your guard, until you find another body.

Soldier is propped up against the wall, his side covered in red and his visor slightly cracked.

Everything from then on out is a blur.

You know you are giving the best first aid you can, repeating ‘man down’ in the microphone in the hopes those wings Mercy has will get her here faster. You know at one point, Zarya pulls you away so McCree can help him up, but besides some grunts, there are no sound leaving his mouth.

The crying only starts when you are alone; already back in the base, staring at the mirror.

You should’ve given him more cover fire.

You shouldn’t have miscalculated the fact that there’d be a helicopter and you should’ve all stayed together as a team.

You don’t know how long you stand there, clenching your fists and biting your lip until the skin breaks, but you know Mercy keeps quiet about your mental state as she carefully opens the bathroom door.

“We’ve stabilized him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're reaching the end! exciting


	17. medical ward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here be smut

You are good at hiding. It’s basically your job. When Mercy tells you how Soldier is stabilized, you just nod and thank her with a distant politeness about you that she dislikes. She knows what this is. Way back when, Fareeha had once injured herself tremendously and stumbled back into a hideout wearing blood like a new fashion accessory.

For exactly 26 days, you had avoided her, until she had cornered you up against a wall.

Angela knew this was the same thing all over again. The glossy eyes, the bags, the chapped lips, bad emotions mixed together on your skin…

“It is not your fault, Hase.”

Her voice is quiet; in the light of the setting sun, she really feels like an angelic apparition.

“Don’t want to hear it, Angela,” you bite back, turning away from her. Your composure was hanging by a thread and her deep blue eyes would snap it, without a doubt.

“He is ready for visitors, if you’d like. I am also here if you want to talk,” she adds your name and she says it so softly and compassionately. You are relieved she doesn’t take your tone personal: you don’t really mean it. You give a nod and she leaves, closing the door quietly.

* * *

The only thing you leave your room for is training with Zarya, for the sole reason that she is the only one who doesn’t throw you questioning glances or looks of pity. No matter how aloof McCree was, you’d see him sneak off with Hanzo but not before giving you a look.

You weren’t a goddamn _child_. You wanted to forgive yourself on your own time.

You look at the coffee machine and count the cups again while Zarya is rushing through a set of sit-ups, and what she does next knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Literally.

She gets up and rams her under arm into your chest, effectively knocking you down on the mat and leaving you gasping for breath as she straddles herself on top of you. It is heavy, because of your difference in build, and you certainly do not know why she decides to do it. It takes you a while but then you stare her down, and you don’t miss the seriousness in her eyes.

“Zarya, could you...get off?” you have to say it in parts and you have to say it quickly, her muscled arm still pressing down on your lungs.

“I get off when you talk.”

You roll your eyes, pushing and pulling. This was, effectively, a fight you could not win. In hand to hand, you could take down the less bulky members- members you could slip behind, under, whatever. Zarya, however, with her towering build, was not among those people. The woman literally didn’t have any openings.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hiss. She raises her eyebrow and lets out a chuckle.

“If you think that intimidates Zarya, you will have to try harder.”

The amusement in her voice is notable and though she has a point, you really don’t want to do this.

“At least let me get up then?”

“You will run.”

She knows you too well. You sigh, dropping your arms and looking out the window, hair falling down around your face. Zarya’s arm loosens up: her legs are still gripped around your waist.

“Everyone always acts like nobody is to blame but fate. It’s a dangerous profession, they’ll say. But we should’ve stuck together.”

She knows you are talking about Soldier and she knows that, by the solemn tone in your voice, you are past crying. You are fully settled into this self-pitying ball you’ve created for yourself instead of realizing that while you are right: that doesn’t mean you are completely right.

“Do you remember Saransk?”

Saransk was a Russian city, where you had tracked down a few Talon agents. You had done most intelligence for the mission, while Zarya had accompanied you as the brawns. The mission had gone smoothly: quick, deadly and ready to protect her homeland, Zarya had proven once again why she was made for this profession.

Until a machine gun round grazed her side and shoulder before the perpetrator found himself swallowing lead.

You’d completely blocked yourself out: it was one of your first missions with Zarya as your _friend_ , and you had been lost in a world of shock.

“Yeah, why?”

She removes her arm.

“Ten bullets,” she points to where she got hit back then, “all over here. How long did we not speak?”

“10 days.”

You are flushed when you admit that: it wasn’t something you were proud of.

“I thought you think ‘Zarya is wuss. Don’t want to see her.’ for the longest time.”

You turn back to finally stare into her muddy blue eyes, surprised by that statement.

“That was not-” you start but she tuts and raises a finger.

“I know it was not intention. But I know my thoughts.”

The last statement she adds leaves you flushed as she leaves.

“Lover boy will also think that.”

You are beet-red and bury your face in the mat.

* * *

The medical ward is quiet. Angela had to leave on a mission with Lucio and D.VA, and the only sounds that were there were the humming of biotic fields and magical lasers.

5 days. You had ignored him for 5 days.

You didn’t know which room he was in- when you accidentally stumbled upon a less than tasteful scene of Hanzo and McCree... _working out_ , as it were, you almost threw up in your mouth.

They didn’t let you go though.

Well, McCree felt like it was the perfect time to give you a lecture. Hanzo, stuck under him, thought it was not.

“Lookie ‘ere who decided to show up.”

“Jesse, you are not wearing pants and I don’t want to have this talk with two men getting it on.”

Hanzo’s blush deepens.

“Darlin’, you don’ have to be jealous. I’ll let ya win at poker.”

“I want you to let me leave, big shot.”

McCree is happy to see a slight sparkle in your eyes- clearly, Zarya’s talk had helped. It should’ve, considering she boasted about it to everyone who held you close in their heart.

When McCree shifts again and Hanzo lets out a moan, you turn around and face the door.

“Open the goddamn door and get on with your activities, you pervert,” you growl.

You hear his chuckle down the hall and cursing, _so much cursing_ , in Japanese.

“Last room to yer right-” he adds later, when you are already in front of that particular door.

 _Well,_ you muse, _here goes nothing._

* * *

“Angela won’t let you leave either, huh?” you ask quietly when you enter the hospital room. Soldier:76 isn’t wearing his mask, because you’d quickly spotted it on the bedside table, but you don’t meet his eyes. You don’t want to meet eyes with the same power of Angela- eyes that can look further than pretense and silly jokes. Not now.

“You took your time to come visit me.”

It’s not like he’s accusing you of anything: his tone is light and playful, but it still hits you where it hurts. You’d only see him lying down, clutching his side, every damn time you thought about him. You’d see those blue eyes staring too deep into yours, as if it was somehow your fault.

Logically, you knew it wasn’t, but the fun thing about emotions is that they don’t _care_.

You shuffle over to the chair and take a seat, staring at the hands in your lap. You appreciate the fact that he’s giving you time to take the first step.

“I should’ve given you more cover fire.”

You are past crying: but the solemn sadness in your eyes makes him wonder how long you’d mulled over this. Not only that- the dark circles around them are more than obvious. Zarya had told him that she had an emotional talk with you, but even though it got you here, _finally_ , that was about it.

“You did everything you could. I’m not going to ask for the impossible-“

“I should’ve tried.”

Your breath hitches in your throat when he holds your shoulder again, similar to when you didn’t know each other that well. Only this time, instead of keeping it at bay as a polite gesture, he’s rubbing circles with his thumb.

You place your hand over his but you’re still too cowardly to look at his face. Partly because you still feel like a failure, and partly because the red tints on your cheek were too much.

“I’m not blaming you for anything, sweetheart. You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

You’re scowling at this, eyebrows knitting together. It’s a look Soldier:76 doesn’t often see you do: you’re either grinning or snorting whenever you are walking around the base. He wonders how many other people have seen it before. He had seen you crying, yes, but doubt and anger were very different from grief and sadness.

He wanted to see more.

He also notices the blush on your cheeks but decides to keep quiet about it.

You, however, feel the heat rising to your face even more. It had been steadily getting worse with every small gesture he showed you, and part of you didn’t want to expect much more.

But it was _lonely_. Pretending not to be love struck. Pretending he wasn’t more than McCree or Zarya. Pretending you didn’t care. You hardly had any time with everything that has happened to mull over your feelings, but that didn’t make them leave.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the peaceful silence occupying you both as you’re trying to think of where this situation is leading and what to say. When his hand moves away from your shoulder to hold your cheek, raising your gaze to meet his, your breathing stops completely.

His eyes are passionate but compassionate as well. It’s as if they’re urging you to _please, talk_.

You bite your lip and decide to just go for it.

“Can I kiss you?”

Morrison either feels absolutely nothing when you say that or he’s damn good at hiding his emotions. You really hope it’s the second.

When you finally start breathing again after your statement, the heaving of your chest breaks Soldier’s resolve and before he can answer, his lips are on yours.

It’s frantic. You quickly wrap your arms around to hold his back and let out a squeak when he lifts you onto his lap, his hands still politely positioned on your shoulder and the small of your back. While you are busy getting over the fact that the man just single handily picked you up and put you back down, Morrison bites your lower lip.

You let out the neediest moan you’d ever heard yourself make. It had clearly been too long since you had some physical contact. You lean in more to make sure he continues, but he holds a hand on your chin and pushes your face back.

You’re leaning forehead to forehead, your breathing slightly heavier, but you don’t miss the way his chest goes up and down to the same beat as yours.

“Thought you’d never ask, agent.”

It’s the first time you hear him call you ‘agent’ without the slightest hint of disdain and you smile.

“Well, it’s not like you-“

He shuts you up by surprising you yet again: he lifts you back up and pulls his legs out from under yours to lower you on your back. He’s on top of you now, knees on either side of your legs, and you feel comfortable enough to let go of his back to place your hands on the bottom of his shirt.

“No talking. Unless you want me to stop.”

He trails kisses down your neck and you find it hard to come up with a decent reply.

“No stopping. Unless you want me to talk,” you joke, and he gives your ass a squeeze at that.

He’s licking and biting your neck somewhat carefully as he makes quick work of taking off your shirt and bra. You let your hands roam down from his shirt as well to unbutton his pants.

When he pulls away, you are ready to tell him off for suddenly stopping, until you see him loom over and pull off his shirt.

Damn.

You knew he had a nice build. Considering he wore pretty tight shirts it wasn’t exactly rocket science to figure out the man had a trained body, but seeing the chest littered with scars made your heart flutter.

He picks up your hands to distract them from their job to get his pants off, as well, but when he raises them to his face and breathes feather light kisses along your knuckles, you swoon. You remember to breathe again, after a few seconds, and pull his hands down to place them on your chest.

“In a hurry, sweetheart?” he jokes, and you’re sure he just wants to get a raise out of you, but you put your hands behind your head invitingly.

“You can’t dangle that in front of my eyes and not want me to get on with it.”

He indulges you by diving down and making work of your chest. He seems to love teasing, or he wants to take it slow, but his light pulling and kissing and squeezing is enough to make you arch your back into his touch. You’ve got one hand in his hair as a way to support you.

Suddenly, he stops again. It’s getting mildly annoying.

“Shit.”

You’re surprised by that, for sure.

“What?” you moan, your hand trailing back from his hair to his cheek.

“Protection.”

“You don’t have any on you?” you ask with a smirk, eyebrow raised.

“I wasn’t exactly planning this.”

You give an annoyed moan as you roll out from under him, less than gracefully stop-drop and rolling on the floor.

“I’ll be right back, I know where Angela keeps the goods.”

Soldier loves the sight of you skipping half-naked out the door without a care in the world.

When you appear in the doorway, clutching the condom like it was Excalibur, Soldier:76 laughs for the first time in weeks. You love the sound of the deep, rich sounds and smile like an idiot as you climb back on the bed after taking off your boots. Won’t be needing those.

“No excuses now.”

“You really want this?” he asks it with a smile, but the sincerity is touching.

“If I didn’t I would’ve hit you where it hurts, Morrison. Get on with it, its cold.”

He leans his forehead against yours, tentatively, and you find out that even though his face is set on neutral, his forehead is warm.

“Turn around,” his tone is commanding and needy, a low whisper, “and get on your knees.”

He gets off the bed and walks around after you hastily comply- you feel yourself raising your ass up and hope he takes the invitation that your spread legs provide.

He does. He does take it, but only after a few agonizing seconds of walking around and admiring the view. You hear his boots click and when it stops the silence is more than annoying.

“Morrison, you can’t pull a line like that and then leave me hang-”

You can’t finish the sentence because before you know it, he’s leaning down, dragging down your pants and underwear in one fell swoop. He starts lapping at your mound, and you wonder how he can keep up the steady rhythm while there are stars in your eyes. You are letting out a litany of sounds, trying to brace yourself by holding on to the bed but to no avail.

You feel Soldier’s hands travelling up and down your thigh- teasing with the way his nails scrape along it softly. It’s clear, now that you really have nothing to worry about anymore, that he’s a lot more confident.

One hand travels up and you feel him rubbing at your folds, but not giving you the pleasure of _more_.

“Please,” you mewl, not quite sure what you are pleading for, but the sounds make Soldier’s tongue stop and you find yourself trying to lean in closer.

He holds your leg down with his free hand and continues teasing with his other, tracing kisses up your leg.

“You’ll have to speak clearly,” he breathes along the skin and your nails dig into the mattress harder.

“ _Please_.”

A low chuckle escapes his throat and you can feel him stand up by the way he repositions his hands. One temporarily leaves your body, but not for long, as you hear the condom packet rip.

“Drop your legs over the edge,” he orders again, and as you carefully climb down, you move back enough to feel his length through his pants. It sends you aching even more.

“Not much of a potty mouth now, huh,” he grins and the way your name leaves his lips -full of want and desire and hunger- you give another moan, rubbing against his bulge when he tugs back your hair, revealing your face.

The sight almost gives him shivers.

Blushing suits you: the framing of your hair makes you look stunning, even with your tired eyes.

He makes quick work of it, entering you completely and leaning down so his chest is flush against your back. You still sing out moans and once he is used to you, he starts getting into a steady rhythm.

“I’m-” you start, throwing back one hand to find something of his- a hand, a chest, his hair.

When he grasps it with his warm hand, you can’t stop your smile. His hand is rough- years of fighting does that- but it is so gentle.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he moans in your ear, his short groans not escaping your attention either. Getting closer to release, you slightly raise your hips so he can go faster.

He immediately understands and you soon find yourself letting out a long moan, falling back down on the bed with a smile on your face. Soldier finishes soon after.

You settle down on the bed as he takes care of the condom- stealing his blanket and propping yourself up so you can still admire the view.

“If that’s what it took to make you feel better, you can always come by, agent.”

He circles the bed and climbs in, snuggling you, one hand around your waist and the other on your breast again.

“Hmm, I might not feel entirely better yet, Morrison,” you joke and he gives a playful squeeze. When you turn to him, he has a solemn look in his eyes.

“Only ignore me when I’ve done you wrong,” he whispers, “I’d like to see that pretty face more often.”

You can only nod with a million dollar smile on your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is done! Thank you so much for all the comments :D i hope it's a bit of a good ending, but i've run out of inspiration and don't want to milk it too much.


End file.
